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Chapter Text

(4,788 words)

He's heard the stories—oh, well, duh. Anyone who's an anyone has heard the stories of the enormous vulture-like creature that lives in the forest, with wings as big and black and dangerous as a devastating oil spill, killing everything in his path. Those wings are the last thing people that come across the massive beast see before they're supposedly devoured whole and alive, not even leaving a body behind.

Point is, everyone knows about the gigantic yet elusive creature that stalks the forest, hunting for new prey under the cover of darkness, the moon producing just enough of a haunting glow to light up the woods and make sure the creature is the last thing said prey sees. Everyone knows that if someone in town abruptly disappears, it's because they had snuck into the woods and had gotten devoured. Everyone including Dean. Especially Dean.

After his mother died when he was little, his dad went berserk, blaming the winged beast for the fire that had taken his wife. Ever since then, he's been training Sam and Dean to one day take on the monster that he can't find and can't defeat, and Dean is finally ready to hunt down the thing that destroyed his family and snatched up his childhood. Which is why, not for the first time, he's stalking through the forbidden woods at night, a sharp knife in one hand and a flashlight in the other and a homemade bola launcher tucked safely in his waistband. He wants this thing alive.

Dean didn't exactly have his dad's permission to saddle up Impala in the middle of the night to go trekking through the woods in search of the monster, but after eighteen years of watching his dad push himself and his sons alike into a horrible life that revolves around hunting and binge drinking, Dean's willing to do just about anything to get the approval he hasn't gotten since he was four years old and had just learned how to recite the entire alphabet.

He's been out here every night for two and a half weeks, and his dad has yet to catch him. Similarly, Dean has yet to actually find the beast. That's why the sight of a clear path through the colored trees that reveals how the creature flies to the lip of a cave each day catches his attention, and he quickly goes to try to scale it.

Once he's able to climb up to the ledge, Dean shines his flashlight on the small pile of fish sitting just beyond the mouth of the cave. He didn't really think about it before, but Dean figures that it must be pretty hard to consistently feed on human flesh when so few people go into the woods these days. Strangely, the fish are covered in ice cubes (well, chunks of ice resembling ice cubes that were probably taken from the nearby lake that had frozen overnight). Dean didn't really think any beast would be aware enough to realize that things like that would start rotting after a few days, let alone how to prevent it.

The cave itself is decently spacious on the inside, with a high yet dripping ceiling the monster probably only took refuge in to stretch its deathly-large wings. There's a bed of straw in the corner that was probably stolen from town, and a few blankets that were definitely stolen sitting beside it. The odd pile of various clothing articles catches Dean's attention next. Souvenirs from victims?

Before Dean can look into it too much, a quiet sound like laundry flapping gently on a clothesline steals his attention. Dean quickly ducks right beside the entrance and peeks out, catching sight of a large shadow moving through the sky before it disappears, as if it was never there to begin with. He glances down at the flashlight lying face-down on the cave floor, wondering if the light had scared the creature of darkness away.

He waits beside the mouth of the cave for hours, waiting for it to return, but he doesn't see it by the time the sun begins rising. Unwilling to invoke his dad's suspicions before he even has his prize, Dean leaves the cave and rushes home on Impala, still looking around for the monster the entire way back.

Just like every day for the past two and a half weeks, the first thing Sam asks when Dean sneaks into their shared room through the window just before sunrise is, "Did you find it?"

Dean sighs and flops in his bed, rubbing his tired eyes. "Not yet. I finally found its den, though."

"Cool," Sam replies, pretending he isn't glad that Dean hasn't found the creature. Dean can see right through it though and honestly, he'd be a little more than freaked out if Sammy went sneaking out every night to try to hunt down a bloodthirsty killing machine, too… "What did its den look like?"

"Like a musty, old cave." He pauses and adds, "Looks like it likes to strip its victims first. There was a pile of clothes beside this big spot of dry hay."

"Huh." Thankfully, Sam has stopped asking if he can come too. Sam only just turned eighteen in the in the spring and wants to head off to college when the time is right; Dean isn't about to let him tag along for what very well may be a suicide mission.

Just like every other day for the last two and a half weeks, their dad nearly breaks down the door and Sam and Dean both pop out of bed to get ready for the day. Dean can barely keep his eyes open at the homemade shooting range, his body hating him for staying up all night waiting for the monster. His dad chews him out, and he grits his teeth and bares it. Just like he has every other day for the past two and a half weeks, and for over a decade before that.

-

That night, Dean returns to the creature's den to wait, knowing that it will eventually have to return there at some point. Time passes very slowly, especially after he flicks the flashlight off to better hide his position at the risk of being snuck up on. It's kind of chilly and the cave is dark and moist, and Dean toys with the idea of just going home more than once.

But it's all worth it the instant he hears that flapping laundry noise again, followed by a few heavy footsteps. There's an echo-y humming noise, low and steady, before Dean sees the worryingly humanoid monster step inside the cave, a new load of fish in its arms that he can only barely make out through the heavy darkness. It's not nearly as large as everyone says it is, and Dean wonders if it's, like…the monster's baby or something.

There's another noise like a thousand leaves blowing in the wind before the creature's massive and infamous wings are drawn to its back, comfortably draping down past its knees. Is it…talking? Talking to itself while it adds more disgusting fish to the pile? Dean doesn't really know how comfortable he is with the idea of killing something that's clearly intelligent and self-aware…but…his dad…

Dean grits his teeth and tightens his grip on his blade, feeling the edges of the handle bite into the palm of his hand. He stalks closer until he's right behind the stupidly unsuspecting beast and, in an instant, he forces his hand to bury the blade into one of the creature's folded wings, attempting to keep it from being able to fly away. The horrible shriek that follows is unexpected, as is the creature suddenly spinning around and slapping a disgusting wet fish across his face in what was probably a gross accident.

The combination of these two actions causes Dean to release the blade to stupidly wipe his stinging cheek, giving the beast the opportunity to stumble towards the lone exit. Recovering from the gross attack just as the monster makes it to the ledge outside the cave, Dean fumbles for his bola launcher, and manages to shoot all three of his sturdy bolas at the creature just as it takes flight. One misses completely, one wraps around its wings, and the last wraps around its body, taking away its ability to move and fly. In other words, bullseye.

The creature drops down through the trees with a horrible and pitiful sound. The echoing of tree branches snapping in half is the only sound Dean hears for several seconds before there's a sharp cracking sound Dean instantly recognizes as the sound of bones breaking, followed by a sorrowful cry of pain. He almost feels bad…

The young hunter carefully goes down the rock ledge and back to the ground, but quickly realizes it's both impossible and stupid to try to look for a likely nocturnal beast in the dark, especially considering his only weapon is still buried in the monster's flesh. So, hating himself for it, Dean flees the forest and returns home, silently promising to be back the next morning. If the creature doesn't escape its bola prison by morning, it'd be weakened and tired, anyway, making it easier to bring home to his dad.

-

As soon as he's able to escape his dad, Dean's basically out the door. He races on horseback to go back into the woods with no less than three knives on his person and a crappy old wooden wagon he remembers hauling Sammy around in decades ago. When he gets to the spot where the monster would have been lying just a few hours before, however, all that greets his eyes are the remains of his bolas—the shredded remains of his bolas—and a smattering of blood on the ground, difficult to see with all the leaves decorating the forest floor.

So, after checking up in the cave and finding it empty, Dean searches the area, following the light trail of blood until it leads to a small lake filled with fish that dart away the second Dean approaches. Its dinner source? Dean knows the monster apparently likes to feed on disgusting fish (Dean, meanwhile, sometimes wishes he's allergic to the stuff, especially on carp night)…

There's a sharp snapping of a branch in the distance, and Dean startles, quickly turning around and raising a knife in preparation for an attack…that doesn't come. There's no monster in sight—just a sad-looking boy around his age, though a good bit smaller than Dean, staring back at him from about twenty feet away with big blue eyes widened in either surprise or alarm. Dean sighs and lowers his knife, taking in the altogether unthreatening guy swallowed up by the huge, filthy trench coat on his shoulders.

"You shouldn't be out here," Dean says, starting to approach the smaller male, his wagon creaking the whole damn time because he forgot to oil the back right wheel. "It's dangerous out here, especially at night."

"Why?" he asks when Dean is only a few feet away and—wow, his voice is surprisingly deep, maybe from disuse. Dean realizes he isn't wearing shoes underneath the too-long legs of his loose pants. Maybe he's poor? But…most poor people Dean knows live in town so they can beg for food and money and stuff. Out here, the guy could only hope an acorn might fall off a tree and bounce off his head.

"There's a monster out here."

"Monster?" the guy repeats, blinking owlishly, like he's never heard of one of those. Dean wonders if he's slow or something, or if he just doesn't get out much, since he acts like he's never talked to anyone before in his life.

"Yeah. Big bird thing. My dad calls it the Vulture of Death, because it eats people." Dean looks the boy up and down, asking incredulously, "You seriously have never heard of this?" He just shakes his head wordlessly, piercing blue eyes still locked on Dean. It's a little creepy. "Right, whatever. Do you live around here?"

"Sort of," he answers—nice and ominous. Great.

"If you know these woods, can you help me find this thing? I think I pissed it off and I don't want anyone getting hurt."

"Okay."

So there's a nice and awkward silence that falls over them as they trek through the forest, looking for some mysterious bird monster that may be incredibly ticked off and hostile. Dean doesn't want to think of the guy as bait, but…yeah, okay, he's kind of bait. His own fault for following, though.

"What's your name?" Dean eventually asks.

"Castiel."

"I'm Dean."

"It's nice to meet you." Castiel makes no effort to remove his hands from where they're buried in his trench coat pocket, so Dean doesn't try to shake his hand. Dude clearly doesn't get out enough—he's got the social skills of a rock.

They search through the parts of the woods Dean has been in before, and slowly wander deeper into the forest to some area filled with mushrooms that are probably poisonous.

"Do you have any family in the area?"

"No, it's just me," Castiel replies, bending down to examine a little patch of white mushrooms with an unreasonably serene (and cute—wait, what?) expression on his face. "And you?"

"Just my dad and my little brother."

"I see."

They still haven't found the creature by the time the sun begins setting. On the bright side, Castiel did get to show Dean a lot of the forest that he's never explored before, and Castiel never really left his side once, seeming completely at ease with the forest and all its hidden dangers. Turns out the place is, like, overrun by mushrooms and poison ivy. Still, when Dean hesitates outside the ledge of the monster's cave, Castiel just stops a few feet behind him and watches, wordlessly and passively.

"I'm gonna be waiting for this thing in its den," Dean tells him slowly. "Could be pretty dangerous."

"Okay," Castiel accepts easily, but he doesn't move.

"Might be the time to head home," he says pointedly, raising his eyebrows to help get his message across.

"Or I could stay with you," the smaller man says simply, tilting his head—which isn't cute at all.

"Don't you have to get home for dinner or anything?" the hunter asks, hoping the man says yes so he doesn't end up getting hurt.

"No."

So Dean reluctantly allows the man to stay, even helping him climb up the ledge. They camp out in the cave all night (well, Dean stays up all night while Castiel eventually dozes off and drools on his shoulder, snoring softly for most of the night and just acting like a warm blanket draped over Dean's entire right side), but there are no signs of the creature at all.

When the sky begins growing brighter to signify the coming sunrise, Dean shakes Castiel awake gently and tells him he has to go home. Dean helps the drowsy man down the ledge and back to the ground before sending him off to go home to a real bed. Only then does Dean go home himself.

-

Dean sleeps through a lot of the next day since his dad went to town, but by nightfall, he returns to the forest. Surprisingly, Castiel is waiting for him when he climbs up the ledge and goes into the cave. Dean nearly jumps out of his skin when he turns the flashlight beam and all he sees are big eyes staring back at him from the back of the cave, shining back a weird white light like deer do whenever he shines the light on them. Upon closer inspection, it's just Castiel. Weird.

"Damnit, Cas!" he shouts, clutching his racing heart. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Castiel just cocks his head to the side, looking kind of like that puppy Sam brought home once or twice. "Waiting for you."

"Why?" Castiel looks down, not meeting his eyes for possibly the first time since they met. Hastily, Dean adds in an attempt to spare his feelings, "I mean, it's… fine, or whatever. I'm just curious. I mean, surely you have better things to do than wait out in some smelly old cave all night."

"Not really," he replies calmly.

"Oh." Awkwardly, Dean sits down beside the other man with his back against the wall. "So…you come here often?"

"Yes."

"All right, cool."

It's very awkward that night. Dean's almost thankful the creature doesn't show up, because he doesn't think his heart can handle the adrenaline rush of a fight when his heart is already fluttering in his chest each time he catches Castiel's eyes in the dark.

-

The pattern continued for several weeks; Dean would show up around sunset to see Castiel already sitting in the cave in all his trench coated glory and they would stake out the cave until sometime before sunrise. More often than not, at least one of them would end up passing out on the other, and Dean can't help but acknowledge that it is kind of nice to have someone there to keep watch for him and watch over him all night…

One time, they both passed out, and Dean woke up long after sunrise to a very warm weight on his shoulder; his dad was…less than pleased and demanded to know where he'd been, though his anger did die down at the idea of Dean actually making friends. Sam had also been interested in his new friend, though only because of all the great gossiping possibilities such a thing opened up, the bitch.

On the nights where they didn't conk out, they talked. Castiel liked to ask broken sort of questions about the supposed monster they were waiting out for, asking why Dean wanted to hunt it down and kill it, asking why he believed in any of the stories when stories like that were often only crafted to scare people away from something dangerous. Dean…never really knew how to answer that beyond telling him that he wanted to make his dad proud, but even that seemed like kind of a flimsy excuse for taking the life of something that might not even be evil…

Dean eventually did conclude that the creature probably turned tail and went to hide out somewhere else—whether in these woods or in the woods of some other area entirely—but he didn't really care. Slowly, staying up all night in the cave became more about seeing Castiel than seeing some chicken monster; the time Dean had brought a book to read to keep him company when Castiel inevitably fell asleep on him was what really sealed the deal.

Turns out Castiel can't read at all (too poor to go to school, maybe?), but he loves books to the point where he'd forced himself to stay awake all night just to listen to Dean read aloud (though he'd promptly passed out as soon as the hunter was finished). It was beyond endearing, so Dean started bringing books to read under the beam of his flashlight more often, just to pass the time and read to his friend.

He grew to really like Castiel. The guy was weird as hell, sure (especially with his weird penchant for making bird noises—not that Dean's judging, since he has a cousin that likes to make weird noises and flap his arms around, too—and collecting small, shiny objects (which Dean admittedly contributed to more than a few times)), but he was strangely sweet and a great listener.

Besides, he always seems so lonely, like Dean is his only friend in the entire world. He had even teared up when Dean told him (admittedly accidentally) one night that that's what they were—friends—and that was after he denied it twice and put himself and his own value down. He's got the self-deprecation Dean thought only ran in his family, and it was harder than it should've been to try to quell those thoughts.

As such, it was totally Castiel's fault. Dean had given him a neat rock that was probably a chunk of glass and Castiel smiled at him, all big and gummy and so, so awkward. After that, the guy just kept staring at him all night long—like he always did—and his eyes shined so brilliantly in the scarce traces of moonlight and his lips were just that pink or something equally gooey that Dean couldn't help but finally close the last few inches between them one night.

Castiel stiffens immediately, eyes still wide open, so Dean pulls away. "Cas?" he calls worriedly, wondering if he'd overstepped.

The other man ducks his head and avoids eye contact. "Y-you shouldn't do that."

Feeling defensive, Dean huffs and asks haughtily, "And why not? This better not be more of that 'unworthy' crap. I already told you, we're friends because you're a good guy and not because of what you can do for me." In all honesty, Castiel doesn't really seem to have a wide skill set, anyway—at least, not that Dean's uncovered yet.

"It's…not that," he denies softly, but he still won't meet his eyes.

"I think it's related to that," Dean challenges, and he's rewarded with Castiel hunching his shoulders just a little bit more, tossing the glass-rock from one hand to the other. Deciding on a different approach, Dean tells the smaller man, "If those kinds of advances aren't welcome, just say the word. I'll back off."

Castiel's eyes widen and his head shoots up, meeting Dean's eyes with the frantic pair he has to call his own. "I-it's not—I don't—you—" Finally, he glances away, expression closing off. "You just…shouldn't do that…"

"Well, that's too bad, then. If you like it, and I like it, why shouldn't I do it?" To prove his point, Dean leans forward to press a light kiss to Castiel's forehead. The other man's face immediately flushes and he drops his eyes again almost shyly, and Dean just grins.

-

Nothing really changes after that, surprisingly. Dean still snuck out every night (barring those two nights in a row that he caught the cold Sammy brought home; the sudden absence freaked Castiel out so badly that he had tears in his eyes as Dean pulled him into what was supposed to be a quick hug and ended up being a three and a half minute vertical cuddling session complete with Castiel rubbing his face into Dean's shirt and getting it all wet) to see Castiel, and Castiel was always there to meet him. They kissed sometimes (turns out he was Cas' first kiss…who knew) and held hands in the cave, but nothing more.

The nights grow colder with the approaching winter, forewarned by the dense layer of colorful leaves covering every square inch of the forest floor. That just means they get to cuddle more in the cave (not that Dean will ever refer to it as that out loud). The first day a delicate frost decorates the ground, Dean decides to finally say something that's been on his mind for quite a while.

"Y'know, we don't have to keep coming here," Dean murmurs into Castiel's hair from where the smaller man's head is resting against his chest, right over his heart (Castiel is sappy like that). Castiel tips his head up until his sleepy blue eyes meet Dean's. "Could go somewhere warm instead."

"Warm? Where?"

"My place or yours?" The other man blinks at him slowly and uncomprehendingly, tilting his head like a lost puppy. "My house or your house?"

Castiel just frowns, but looks a little sad. "I don't have a house…"

Dean just nods and presses another kiss into his hair, having suspected something like that long ago, though the confirmation is…nice… He wonders what happened to his friend's home, wonders what happened to his family (if he even has one), but he doesn't ask.

"How about my house, then? It even has an actual bed that isn't a pile of straw." They'd long since migrated to the vulture creature's weird nest bed thing, since propping up against the wall beside the mouth of a cave is neither warm nor comfortable. Castiel doesn't answer him, though, and suddenly won't meet his eyes. "Cas?" he prompts.

"I don't think I'd fit in," he says eventually, sounding sad. "I'm not very good around…people. My people skills are…very, uh, rusty. You're the only one I've spoken to in a very long time."

"It's fine. If all's right in the world, it'll just be Sam there, and he loves everyone," Dean assures him, even though he can think of possibly hundreds of people Sam doesn't like—not without good reason, though, since he'd raised his brother right. Besides, it's not like Dean hasn't been dropping little tidbits about Castiel to Sam for quite a while now. If the little bitch knew what was good for him, he'd learn to like Castiel if he didn't like him immediately. "It'll be all right. Promise."

Even with the reassurances, Castiel still won't meet his eyes, and he still looks so sad when he pulls his head away from Dean's heart to sit up and look at the far wall of the cave. "What about looking for the…the m-monster…?"

"Cas," Dean cuts in, sitting up quickly, "this hasn't been about finding the monster in a long time." Castiel just blinks at him slowly, so Dean throws an arm around his shoulders. "It's been about spending time with the only other weirdo in this whole damn town that'd spend every night in the woods with me."

Castiel swallows and looks down. "You…you don't mean that…"

"I do," he assures, quickly kissing the smaller man's forehead. "Realized if my dad didn't like me before, he wouldn't suddenly start liking me just 'cause I hauled home an overgrown turkey vulture." Castiel looks strangely affronted at that, but Dean just laughs. "I mean it, Cas. It's been about you for a while."

Castiel looks at him carefully and ducks under Dean's arm, an almost frightened look on his face before he resorts back to his default blank expression (the dude would kill in poker). Castiel visibly swallows and asks anxiously, avoiding eye contact completely, "What if it…always has been?"

Dean frowns. "I'm not following."

Castiel starts wringing the hands that usually stoically and unfalteringly remain at his sides. Whatever he's trying to say…it's really messing him up. Dude's on his way to a full-on meltdown. Dean tries to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but Castiel turns enough to brush it away. Dean doesn't try again, even though he desperately wants to.

"I'm a…the…I…"

"It's all right, Cas," Dean tries, hating to see the other man all worked up and nervous. In response, Castiel tugs at his own hair, even as Dean frowns in disapproval. "Hey, stop that." When he reaches out, Castiel suddenly jumps to his feet, tears welling in his eyes.

"Y-you shouldn't touch me, Dean! I-I-I'm a monster! I-I'm the monster, Dean!" That's when the other man breaks down, sobs wracking his body. Dean stands up, despite knowing Castiel doesn't want to be touched at the moment. "You should just kill me, Dean! Not invite me into your home—"

"Cas—" What's even happening?

"I didn't mean to not tell you," he continues miserably, even though Dean has no idea what he's even saying; he doesn't need to register Castiel's words to not like them, though, when he's using that self-loathing tone the hunter is far too familiar with. "I didn't think you'd keep coming back—then it was too late to tell you and now you're-you're—you can't, Dean! I—"

When Dean takes a step closer, wanting nothing more than to gather Castiel in his arms and calm him down so they can talk about this, Castiel rushes out of the cave and jumps off the steep ledge. Dean runs to the mouth of the cave, hoping against the odds that one of his only friends hadn't just…

But that's when he hears a sound that's only met his ears a couple of times before, though he hasn't forgotten it at all: a load of laundry flapping on a clothesline. His human eyes search the darkness as his hand fumbles for his flashlight, and he turns the light on just in time for it to catch the sheen of a wall of thick, dark feathers.

The monster. Castiel. Before Dean can say anything, however, he's gone, his beautiful, secret wings carrying him away into the thick darkness of the forest Dean's come to think of as a second home, leaving Dean all alone in the cave for the first time in months.

Chapter Text

(5,541 words)

Dean stays in the cave all night, but Castiel never returns. He comes back in the morning, after he finishes his duties for the day. He comes back that night. And the next night. And the next night. On the fourth day, when his dad plans on leaving sometime in the afternoon, Dean decides 'screw Dad' and stays overnight, waiting on a low branch of a tree adjacent to the cave with only a handful of blankets to keep him warm.

He wakes up covered in a layer of cold dew, but the sudden change in routine works. The hunter eventually spots Castiel, looking so small and hunched over in his massive trench coat, squatting down by the lake, staring down into the water for an indiscernible amount of time. For a moment, Dean thinks he might be catching fish for breakfast. But he isn't. He isn't even moving. As Dean carefully makes his way out of the tree and closer to his friend, he sees Castiel is just looking at his reflection with an unreadable expression.

But by the time Dean can see Castiel's reflection, Castiel can see Dean's. The man (creature?) startles visibly and jumps to his feet, vision probably going all spotty at the movement if his subsequent rapid blinking is anything to go by. Castiel—flighty on a good day, even when Dean thought he was human—looks like he's about to run or maybe dive right into the lake, so Dean tries to calm him down.

"Please don't run," he says, hands coming out placatingly. "Just stay here, Cas. Talk to me." Castiel bites his lip and takes a step back when Dean takes a step forward, but he doesn't immediately take off. Probably a good sign. Maybe. Unless he's planning on dropping backwards into the water or something. "It's okay, buddy. I'm not gonna hurt you—hell, I'm not even mad you didn't tell me. I get it, okay?"

Castiel won't even meet his eyes, his entire body hunched over like he has a two hundred pound weight resting firmly on his shoulders.

"C'mon, buddy. Talk to me." Castiel doesn't say anything. "Cas, please."

"Monsters can't talk," he finally murmurs, voice breaking as tears fill his eyes again.

"You're not a monster," Dean says firmly, but Castiel just looks away. "Look at me!" Startled, the other man does so. "You're not a monster! I know that just from spending time with you and talking to you."

He slowly approaches Castiel, hopeful when the man (creature sounds so…impersonal) doesn't back away. Encouraged, Dean continues until he's close enough to hold Castiel's face in his hands and look into his eyes properly.

"You're not a monster, Cas," Dean repeats softly. "You're Castiel. You love bees and flowers and birds and mushrooms and even that jerk squirrel that threw an acorn at my head when I flipped it off—which it totally deserved, by the way. You get way too hyped whenever I bring a book to the cave because you love reading even though you can't read."

Castiel's face flushes a little and he tries to look away, but Dean keeps his head steady, one of his hands leaving to run through Castiel's hair. The man melts into the touch, eyes drifting shut in contentment, because Dean's the first one he's spoken to in a long time and apparently the first one to touch him in an even longer time. In fact, Dean wouldn't be surprised if this was the first gentle touch Castiel had had since he was born.

"You hate the taste and texture of fish even though you eat it all the time. You hate the feeling of mud between your toes, but hate wearing shoes even more, though you probably just need to get a pair in your size. You like to collect all the bottle caps and glass shards and sparkly little girl toys you can get because you like the way they shine when they catch the sun. You got upset when I stepped on that fugly slug we found like three weeks ago even though it looked like something a dog crapped out."

That gets a startled but watery laugh out of Castiel, which makes Dean smile.

"You're not a monster," he says again, looking imploringly into his friend's eyes. "You're Castiel."

That's when Castiel's arms carefully wrap around him and the smaller man buries his head in Dean's shoulder, his whole body shaking just a little. Dean's arms hold him in return and he tries to ignore the fact that he can definitely feel Castiel's wings through his coat as he rubs up and down his back soothingly.

-

When Castiel calms down, they sit down beside the lake together and watch some small fish swim around. Dean keeps his arm around Castiel's shoulders, but it's getting increasingly difficult to ignore the outline of the wings he can clearly feel through his friend's trench coat, especially since he knows they're under there.

It's definitely rude to ask, Dean reminds himself every time his mind wanders and he starts wondering what they feel like, what they look like. Everyone says they're deadly and awful and an all-consuming black, the last thing someone sees before the beast eats them alive. Dean had even stabbed him in the wing, not so long ago. Deadly. Black. Terrifying. Some even say they're covered in sharp razor blades in the place of soft feathers.

"Can I see them?" he eventually does ask, when Castiel is relaxed and leaning against his shoulder.

"See what?"

Dean is suddenly embarrassed by what he's asking, and wonders if it's too soon. But…still…the curiosity lingers, like a persistent itch that you can only ignore for so long before it becomes unbearable.

"Your wings," he eventually replies. Castiel tenses against him and makes a move like he's going to pull away, to run, so Dean holds him a little closer and a little tighter. "It's okay if you'd rather I not see them. I'm just curious."

"I don't…mind," Castiel says slowly, his words almost a question, like he's trying to convince himself of that. Finally, he nods and sits up. "I don't mind," he repeats with more certainty, getting to his feet to start shrugging off his trench coat before he freezes. "But…not here."

"In the cave?" Castiel just nods, so they head to the cave, standing across from one another in the middle. "Whenever you're ready."

Dean stands back and watches as the smaller man takes his time in untying the band from his trench coat before slowly pushing it off his shoulders, letting it pool around his feet. Castiel doesn't immediately step forward or spread his wings, however, instead looking down at his bare feet and wrapping his arms around his bare chest self-consciously.

"Hey, you don't have to show me. It's fine, Cas," Dean tells him, meeting his eyes with some effort and trying to ignore the little bit of the wings he could see from where they peeked past Castiel's sides. "I'm really okay with not seeing them."

"It's…fine," Castiel replies carefully. "I don't mind. It's just…" He breaks eye contact again. "I fear your reaction—your rejection… I've never shown anyone my wings before, not since I was forced out of the town for having them…"

"I won't leave, Cas," Dean assures him, stepping a little closer. "I won't run. I know what you are, and more importantly, I know who you are. I'm not going anywhere."

With that, Castiel looks down and spreads his wings a little, far from fully out, but far enough away from his body that Dean can get a good look. Whichever dumbass decided 'the beast' had black wings should go back to kindergarten to relearn colors and the English language, because the shimmering mix of midnight blues, dark purples, and even hints of a golden shine in Castiel's wings is a far cry from a deathly black. They're not really as big as Dean would've thought they would be, either, and he wonders how they carry the smaller man at all.

"Wow," Dean breathes, burying his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to touch. "They're…"

"Scary?" Castiel finishes. "Everyone says they are, according to your stories…"

"Every story needs a bad guy, and you were just the most convenient option," Dean says. "I was gonna say something girly, like beautiful, by the way."

He probably enjoys the way Castiel's entire face goes pink too much. "Oh."

"Can I…" Dean reaches out a little emphatically, and is surprised when Castiel's right wing extends to meet his hand, causing his hand to bury itself in the soft feathers that are most certainly not razor blades. "They're so soft."

The feathers puff up a little at the praise, becoming fluffier and softer and…the whole thing is really cute, okay? Enough so that he'll let the term slide in favor of running his fingers through the feathers and feeling along the even softer down feathers beneath the top layers.

"I'm sorry they're so messy," Castiel breaks in with. "My winter plumage is still coming in."

"You mean they usually look better?" Dean asks in awe, bringing his other hand up to run through the underside of Castiel's other wing. Castiel's eyes flutter shut and he makes the cutest little trilling-chirping sound that Dean has ever had the privilege of hearing, and Dean's pretty sure there's just a big puddle where his heart used to be now. "Feels nice?"

"Even more good than when you run your hands through my hair," he confirms, not even bothering to open his eyes. Dean is struck by just how much Castiel must trust him to allow him to be essentially unmonitored in the presence of his wings—which are surely the most sensitive parts of his body.

Feeling tender at the thought, Dean leans forward to kiss Castiel lightly, just to show him that his appendages don't change anything. Castiel fumbles his way into kissing back, and Dean moves closer to bring him into a hug, running his hands along his friend's bare back and along the backs of his wings. When Dean's thumb hits something hard and unrelenting in the meat of Castiel's right wing, however, he pulls away to glance curiously over the smaller man's shoulder.

The hunter's face instantly goes pale when he catches sight of the familiar handle of the knife he himself had wielded not too long ago. It's still buried in the flesh of Castiel's wing, and as Dean gently turns his friend around for a better look, he realizes one of the swoopy bones outlining the top of Castiel's wing looks like it's bent in a strange and unnatural way. Broken. Malunion. Because of him.

Guilt races through every vein and artery in Dean's body. "Cas," he whispers, voice breaking as his mind runs off without him. Does…does Castiel even know that Dean's the one who did this to him? "This is…I…I'm so sorry…"

"I know," Castiel simply says, looking over his shoulder to meet Dean's eyes with a pair of soft blue ones that are looking at him far more kindly than he deserves. "It's okay. I already forgave you."

"You shouldn't have," Dean replies, looking away.

"Well, I have. What are you planning on doing about it?"

Dean smiles for a second, recognizing the phrase as his own flavor, before sighing heavily and running a hand through his hair. "I can't just leave that in there, Cas. I gotta take it out." Castiel flinches, but nods and looks away. "Come back to my place," Dean tells him suddenly. "I can patch you up there."

Castiel looks at him warily for a long moment before nodding. "Okay."

-

The walk to Impala is silent. Castiel had put his trench coat back on—probably to make Dean more comfortable than anything—but Dean couldn't stop thinking about his wings. It's like now that he's got a look, he never wants to see them hidden again. But in the cruel world they live in, any sort of difference is turned against you and you become an outcast.

Once he found out Castiel is the 'monster' everyone has always talked about, Dean did some intense digging. Turns out all the people he'd supposedly 'eaten' had just used that as an excuse to skip town and go somewhere else, and further checking confirmed that most of them were still alive and well and living in a town that didn't suck.

Furthermore, Dean's pretty sure Castiel can't breathe fire or anything, since he's been huddling up to Dean for warmth more and more as winter approaches instead of even suggesting a fire—in fact, he wouldn't be surprised if his friend didn't even know what a fire was or else he probably would've learned to make one somehow. He's clever like that.

So the whole monster thing ended up being just a cover-up for people that wanted to get lost and not be looked for, and poor Castiel took the brunt of the damage because he had things that no one else had, which automatically made him strange and something to be feared in the eyes of many. People don't like what they don't understand, and Castiel unfortunately falls under that category.

"What is that?" Castiel gasps, stopping abruptly in the middle of the path to step behind Dean.

Dean looks up to see his horse, Impala, lying on the ground inside the makeshift barn he'd set up for her when he first started coming to the woods to search for the 'monster'. The barn is actually just three walls of weathered rotwood with a tarp in place of the fourth wall. When he pulls the tarp aside to go into the barn and untie Impala, she stands up to greet him with a loud snuffle.

"Hey, baby. Miss me?" Dean says, patting her on the side of the neck. She snuffles at him as her ears flick in various directions, and he grins. "That's what I thought."

Dean unties the horse and takes the time to resaddle her. By the time he's finished, he realizes the barn is far too quiet and far too empty. Dean leaves the barn, Impala in tow, to search out Castiel, and spots the end of his trench coat hiding unsubtly behind a tree.

"What are you doing, Cas?" he asks, amused. Castiel glances around the side of the tree, but quickly ducks back behind it the instant he sees…oh. "Cas, are you scared of Impala? She's not gonna hurt you."

"I don't even know what she is," is all he says.

Dean blinks in surprise. "You've never seen a horse before?" Castiel makes a noncommittal noise of vague confirmation. "There's nothing to be scared of. I-I know she's pretty big, but she's not gonna hurt you."

"You don't know that…"

"Cas, you're gonna be okay, all right? I swear, you're safe with her." When Castiel doesn't say anything, Dean continues, "I've been riding her since I was little. Sammy too, before he got his own horse. Can you come out here for me? Just to see her?"

Castiel finally peeks around the tree and reluctantly leaves his hiding place. He approaches Dean, giving a wide berth between himself and Impala.

"Hold your hand out," Dean tells him, and he waits until Castiel raises a hand before he takes the hand into his own and gives it a little kiss, because he's turning into a sap, too. It's contagious, definitely. "I'm gonna put your hand in front of her nose, okay? She's gonna smell it."

"Uh…okay." Dean gently guides his friend's hand until it's a short distance from Impala's face. Nostrils flaring, she visibly sniffs at it before, to Dean's own surprise and Castiel's panic, she presses her nose to his hand. "Dean…!"

"It's okay, don't be scared," Dean quickly says, squeezing his hand and rushing to reassure him. "She just wants you to pet her. Try going for her neck."

Dean doesn't let go of Castiel's hand, but he doesn't try to move it, either, instead letting Castiel move to awkwardly pat the side of Impala's neck.

"That's good," he praises, carefully removing his hand from Castiel's to let the smaller man become more comfortable with the horse. "Not so scary, right?"

"I…I guess not," he replies, running his fingers through Impala's mane. Impala usually doesn't like that move too much, but she thankfully tolerates it as Castiel does it. "Why did you move her here?"

"She's my ride home," Dean replies, and Castiel's head snaps to look over at him.

"You…you ride these?" his friend asks in disbelief, eyes wide and a little afraid, probably realizing that means he is going to be riding, too.

"Yup. Got a seat and everything." He pats the saddle on the horse's back for emphasis. Seeing that his attempt at humor didn't seem to relax Castiel in the slightest, Dean explains, "It's a little ways from this forest to town, and it'd take an hour to walk all that way. Horseback is a lot faster."

"I understand," Castiel replies calmly, though he's still looking worriedly at Impala in the corner of his eyes. "Do I…have to ride her?"

"Not right now, if you don't want to. For now, just spend some time with her. Oh, wait."

Dean digs around in his pockets before quickly retreating to the barn, trying to ignore the almost fearful edge of Castiel's voice when he calls out to him. Dean returns with a few small carrots he'd snuck out from home and lays one flat in his palm. Impala immediately leans over to eat it as Castiel watches, fascinated, so Dean offers him one.

"Wanna try?" he prompts. Castiel picks it up and holds it out, looking a little pale, but still determined. When he goes to hold it out to the horse, Dean steps in. "Whoa, don't hold it like that, you'll get your fingers bit off." Great. Now he's really pale. Trying to ignore how scared Castiel seems (it's for a good cause, he reminds himself, swallowing down the guilt), Dean rearranges the carrot so it's flat in the palm of his hand instead of held out in his fingers. "Try it like that."

Castiel does so, and his eyes grow wide as Impala leans down to take the carrot. "She licked me!" he shrieks, but he sounds more delighted than freaked out.

"Oops. Forgot to warn ya."

Castiel actually progresses really well with the whole horse thing, considering. Dean knew a girl who was scared to death of horses due to an accident when she was younger and she couldn't even look at a horse without freaking out. Then again, Castiel was only scared because he'd never seen one before, and horses in general are pretty big. Still, Dean's glad he didn't have any base fear or anything that would make any progress so much harder to get.

As is, Castiel is comfortable enough around Impala within the hour that Dean thinks he's ready for the next step (and the one they're aiming for, sooner rather than later): riding the horse. Dean first decides to show him what it looks like and what to expect by mounting her himself. He has her walk around a little as Castiel stands back watching every minute of it. Finally, Dean asks if Castiel wants to try it, and is surprised when he says yes.

"All right, just use this log as a step up," Dean tells him, but Castiel is still hesitating, despite his earlier enthusiasm. "What's wrong?"

"What if I fall off?" he asks, worrying his bottom lip. "I don't want to fall off…"

"You won't fall off, Cas. Just be careful and try to keep steady. Balance is important, so—" All of a sudden, Castiel starts taking his trench coat back off before tying the arms around his waist. "Uh…not that I'm complaining about, but why'd you take off your shirt?" Dean asks the newly bare-chested Castiel, his ears going a little red as he pretends not to take in the sight.

"My wings—they help me, uh, stay," is all he says, and Dean figures out after an embarrassing few seconds that he means they'll help him balance. Then, Castiel is climbing up the short log and, with Dean's help, is slowly able to go on Impala's back, his wings flaring out wide when Impala takes a tiny step backwards. "Dean," he prompts urgently, looking worried as he clings to Impala's neck.

"Here, hold the reins instead," Dean instructs, handing Castiel the reins and running a hand down his back briefly, trying to soothe all his tense muscles and encourage him to relax his wings again. "Just relax and don't pull or anything yet. Get comfy on her back."

"It's…strange," Castiel eventually remarks, peering down at Dean. "I can fly, but this seems like the highest I've ever been. Is that strange?"

"I'm probably the wrong person to ask. I'm kinda scared of heights," he admits sheepishly. Castiel tilts his head at him, but doesn't say anything.

The next step is to get Castiel comfortable with moving around. Dean's not optimistic enough to think his friend is going to be riding a horse all on his own anytime soon, so he just takes the edge of Impala's bridle in his hand and leads her around gently, making sure she moves slowly for Castiel.

Castiel initially flares his wings out instinctively on every other step (which accidentally showcases the knife still stuck in his wing, reminding Dean why they're doing any of this at all), but under Impala's slow and steady gait and Dean's gentle encouragements, he does relax with time until he looks like a person (albeit a bird-person) on a horse instead of a marble statue permanently stuck in a hunkered down position.

It's around mid-afternoon, and Dean is anxious to get home to get that knife out of Castiel's wing, so he presses for progress a little and asks if they can hop on together. Dean knows you're not supposed to load horses down with more weight than they can handle, but he vaguely recalls lifting Castiel before when he couldn't wake him up and remembers he's much lighter than he looks (which Dean now figures must be because he has hollow bones or something like a bird to help with flight and not so much because he could do with a little more meat on his bones (though he still stands by that evaluation)), and they don't really have a lot of options.

Arranging himself in front of Castiel so that his friend can hold onto him, Dean takes the reins once they're both comfortable and Impala begins walking. She normally at least trots home, if not outright gallops, but she hasn't ridden two people at once in a few years—not since Sam started shooting up like a garden full of weeds and came across his own horse—so Dean takes it slow. Besides, Castiel has barely even ridden a horse at a slow speed, so Dean's not willing to go too quickly, anyway.

The ride back is slow and quiet. Castiel seems to have gotten the idea that it'd be best if he didn't say anything so that Dean could concentrate or something, making any attempts at conversation awkward and stilted. Oh well. At least the bare trees are lovely this time of year… Once they're on the outskirts of town later that afternoon, Dean urges Impala to stop.

"Dean? Why are we stopping?" Castiel asks, watching Dean climb off of Impala and grab a bag hooked to the side of her saddle.

"We're heading into town now. You gotta put your coat back on." That seems to shock Castiel before he gives a resigned nod and works to put his trench coat back on again without leaving his perch on the horse. "You can take it back off when we're home, Cas, don't worry," Dean tells him with a soft smile, deciding to lead Castiel into town beside Impala instead of on her—it'd draw less attention.

From the angle he's walking at, Dean can see Castiel's eyes widen in awe at every building they pass up until they get into the most busy part of the town: the center. There's something of a farmer's market today and the streets are packed with people shoving and pushing around the displays and little screaming kids running amok. Instead of diving into the havoc, Dean leads Impala to a pull off for horses designed to keep the streets a little less full.

"Dean, this place is amazing," Castiel comments in awe as Dean ties Impala's reins to a post and helps him off the horse. He then takes a second to lay a blanket over Impala to starve off the cold before they're on their way. "You live here?"

"Yep. Welcome to Lebanon, Cas."

Dean discovers not even five minutes later that Castiel can and will wander distractedly if he lets him, so he holds his hand the rest of the time after that and lets Castiel take in the city with wide and curious eyes as Dean guides them where they need to go.

Guy needs a leash, seriously. Speaking of which, a stray dog rushes out of an alley with one of the million rats in the area in its mouth and stops in front of them for a moment. It makes a weird snuffling noise before growling and running away.

"What was that?" Castiel asks, trying to pull his hand out of Dean's grip to chase after it or something.

"It's just a dog, Cas. There are a bunch here." His friend nods sagely if uncomprehendingly and allows himself to be moved.

They go into the town center, and as Dean looks for the shop that sells all the town's medicine (this place is a freakin' maze sometimes, and only when it's inconvenient), a woman Dean surprisingly doesn't recognize approaches them, staring unabashedly and skeptically at Castiel with a sneer.

"And who is that?" She circles around them without an ounce of shame, her nose stuck up to the Heavens the whole time. "I don't recognize your face around here. You look like trouble."

"I'm Castiel," his friend replies amiably, tilting his head at her. Dean tightens his grip on Castiel's hand.

"And what are you doing here, hm?"

Castiel ignores her in favor of turning to him and saying, "I don't like her. Can we leave?"

Dean bursts out laughing at the affronted look on the woman's face and tugs Castiel away by the hand quickly, jogging down the streets with a smile on his face. A group of chickens dash out in front of them, followed by a certain frazzled Jo Harvelle.

"Damnit, come back here!" The chickens don't listen—they never do unless there's food being offered, much like little brothers—and Jo seems too out of breath to keep running after them, so she turns to them. "Hey. Dean, get the chickens and lunch is on me."

Dean rolls his eyes but chases after the birds, releasing Castiel's hand and urging him to do the same thing. The chickens weave between legs and race under display stands, much to the dismay of everyone involved, though no one apparently cares enough to help out or anything ridiculous. He eventually manages to grab five of the squirming bastards before he can't see any more, so he brings them back to Jo.

He returns to the sight of Jo leaning against a building wall, watching Castiel sit cross-legged on the filthy street with three chickens huddled on his lap as he pets each one; he must be good with birds since he basically is one, Dean muses silently. When Castiel notices his presence, he smiles, all big and gummy and awkward, but very cute.

"You brought more chickens," he says excitedly, so Dean huffs in amusement and deposits them on Castiel's lap with Jo's approval. They don't even try to run away again, instead enjoying Castiel spoiling them with caresses and attention they don't deserve.

"Your boyfriend's really got a way with birds, Dean," Jo remarks with a smirk. Dean flushes, but doesn't refute the claim. "Maybe we could get him a job at the ranch or something. He from out of town?"

"Uh, yeah," Dean answers as he watches Castiel smile down at all the chickens, trying not to think of the chickens seeing him as a big mama bird or anything weird. He forces himself to look away and turns to Jo. "Now, I believe we were promised lunch?"

Jo rolls her eyes, but nods. "Yeah, all right. Help me bring the chickens back."

Ten minutes and two runaway chickens later, the three of them are heading into the Roadhouse for lunch. Castiel looks around with the same barely-contained curiosity that he has since they first came into town, and Jo only comments on the fact that they're holding hands twice, though she shoots them all kinds of looks the entire walk.

"Dean! What a pleasant surprise," Ellen greets once Jo jumps to the other side of the counter, tossing the rag she was holding so that it's draped over her shoulder. Despite their dad being somewhat responsible for the death of Ellen's husband, he and Sam are on good terms with the Harvelle family, though mainly since they befriended Jo and all but made her their sister (it's Jo's own fault for acting like an annoying little sister). "Who's your friend?"

"This is Cas. Cas, this is Ellen." Ellen reaches out to shake his hand, but Castiel is too busy tilting his head this way and that as he takes in all the lights and furniture to notice, since the ceiling is apparently just that fascination. "He's, uh, not from around here."

"That's all right. Welcome to Lebanon, Cas." This draws Castiel's attention, and he smiles at her a little.

"Thank you."

He makes no further effort in conversation, so Ellen changes the topic. "What can I get you boys?"

Dean grins over at Castiel and pulls out a chair for him. "Ever had burgers before, Cas?"

"What's a burger?"

Dean makes a low noise in his throat. "Now that's just a crying shame. We're gonna need two burgers, Ellen."

"As long as you're paying, you can have as many as you want," Ellen replies mildly, going back into the kitchen to start preparing their food.

When Dean starts digging around in his pockets for some money, Jo stops him with a resigned sigh. "It's on me. Just don't tell my mom."

Ellen, unfortunately, chooses then to share the fact that she has supersonic hearing. "Joanna Beth Harvelle, you better not have let the chickens get out again," she chastises without looking up from the stove.

"It's okay, we caught them all," Castiel assures, earning him a sharp look from Jo that just seems to confuse him. He adds quietly, "They were very fast, but very soft."

"He's, uh, not the best at reading the room," Dean whispers to Jo sheepishly, if only to salvage the promised free lunch.

"I noticed."

"Dean, why does this chair keep moving?" Castiel decides to ask, and Dean glances over to see him shifting his weight to alternate between resting the chair on three legs or one and two halves of the adjacent pair.

"Just sit still and it won't rock." Castiel sits still for all of five seconds before shifting again, making the chair fall on the one leg that's slightly shorter than the others. Dean sighs and stands up. "Here, swap me. This one isn't rocking."

"You guys are cute," Jo remarks, watching them carefully as they switch chairs. "How long have you been together?"

"A few hours. Dean showed me how to be carried by a horse," Castiel answers just as their food arrives. He pokes at it with an uncomfortable yet curious expression, which causes it to topple over and spill apart all over his plate, much to his fascination. "Oh. It's a food stack."

"She means in total, Cas," Dean injects before Jo can voice whatever thoughts made her face turn into something of a scowl. "A couple months. We spent a lot of time together and bonded pretty quick. Wanted to bring him to town."

Castiel frowns at him. "I thought we were here to get medicine and visit your home."

Dean coughs and says, "Eat your burger, Cas." He takes a large bite of his own burger, as if that will stop Castiel from digging their hole any deeper.

"It's very good," Castiel tells him, holding the burger upside-down and awkwardly, but otherwise mimicking the way Dean's holding it. "What are the green things on it? They're very, uh, good."

"Those are pickles," Ellen responds for him, coming over to rest her elbows against the counter after she makes Jo go clean the tables. "You don't have those where you're from?"

"Not that I know of. I recognize the leaves, however."

"It's called lettuce," Dean cuts in, causing Castiel to frown down at the lettuce on his burger and Ellen to chuckle, if a little skeptically. This is gonna be a long day.

Chapter Text

(7,420 words)

If Dean hears another, 'shouldn't you kids be indoors?,' 'hey, watch where you're going, kids,' or 'get outta the way,' he's going to scream—probably at someone, too. It's hard enough to maneuver one person through the packed marketplace and the slim streets, so it's nearly impossible to pull Castiel along beside him. But he's lost the guy three times when he stupidly decided to let go, so they have to make do.

By the time they finally make it to the shop that sells medicine, Dean is beyond exhausted. Castiel, on the other hand, hasn't lost an ounce of his curiosity the entire walk and is constantly pulling on Dean's hand to go get a better look at whatever's caught his eye this time. It gets ten times worse when they go into the shop filled with all sorts of unfamiliar bottles and jars, which are all shiny and sparkly and alluring. Naturally.

"I thought you might be in today, Dean," Pamela, the shop owner, says as a greeting. "Who's your friend?"

Pamela Barnes is considered a local outcast due to her weird, self-proclaimed sixth sense and her affinity for what the general public views as demonic elixirs, even if people are becoming more and more welcoming towards medicine now that their effects are being revealed more openly. Still, the only reason she was allowed to set up shop in the town is because her stuff actually works, but her cryptic phrases still tend to rub people the wrong way.

"What've you got for stab wounds?" Dean asks instead of answering.

"Depends on where it is." Dean catches Castiel tipping a small glass bottle around in his hands and quickly snatches it from him with a stern look; Pamela's really unforgiving with her 'you break it, you bought it' rule, and Dean's not exactly sweating out buckets of coins here.

"We'll say a limb." Wings count as limbs, right? They're basically a chicken's arms, so they must be…

"Will it need stitches?" Pamela asks as she starts pulling out some bottles of whatever from wherever, setting them on the counter.

"Yeah." He swipes another bottle from Castiel's curious hands and sends him a glare that only confuses the smaller man and earns him a head tilt. Pamela doesn't seem upset about his friend's antics, however, and just waves at him a little. Castiel waves back after a moment, the motion looking strange and unfamiliar, as if he's never moved his hand like that before.

"Who's your friend, Dean?" Pamela prompts again as he's pulling out the money to pay for all this. Dean determinedly doesn't answer, mostly since his dad shops at this store, too; Dean had almost made Castiel wait outside, but wasn't naive enough to believe his friend would still be sitting there when he came out. "Someone new in town, or…"

"Cas," he finally answers, gathering up the items and shoving them into the bag at his shoulder. He flashes the frowning Pamela a quick grin before grabbing Castiel's hand and pulling him back outside with a quick thank you. He quickly goes to get Impala so they can all go home.

"Are we going to see your home?" Castiel asks when they leave the more busy part of town with all the shops, Impala walking down the unpaved paths easily.

"Yeah, it's just down here." The walk is silent, as his friend seems far less curious with the familiar sight of flowers and trees decorating the paths, instead resting his head on the back of Dean's neck.

When they get to the house, Dean does a preliminary scan of the area to confirm that they're alone before opening the door and bringing Castiel inside. He quickly goes upstairs to his and Sam's room and lays out all of the equipment to try to mentally prepare for what he has to do.

"Sit down on the bed, Cas," he instructs without looking up. "Take off your coat, too."

"What's a bed?" Castiel asks, so Dean gestures vaguely to his own bed, trying to calm his shaking hands and frazzled nerves. "Oh. This is much more soft than straw. And it smells like you," his friend remarks. "Very pleasant."

Dean turns to see Castiel burying his face in his pillow, rubbing it all over his cheeks and jaw. It's really weird, but oddly endearing—just like everything else Castiel does, apparently. It also reminds Dean of that stray cat that used to hang around the Harvelle Ranch that Dean probably would've liked a lot more if he wasn't allergic to it. Also its pee was pretty rancid.

"Uh, turn around," is all Dean can say until Castiel's back is facing him, eliminating those puppy-dog eyes from his line of sight. "I'm gonna touch your wings, okay?"

"Okay."

Without preamble, Castiel spreads his wings as far as they can go, whacking one into the wall while the other barely makes it past the end of Dean's bedframe before it apparently can't go any further. Dean makes a sound of surprise that's covered by Castiel's short noise of pain, his wings immediately retracting once more and drawing close to his body again.

"Ow," he belatedly expresses a second later, the word sounding unfamiliar to him—he probably got it from Dean.

Dean chuckles softly to hide his worry and brings his fingers up to gently stroke his friend's wings, mindful of the injury. Castiel makes a cooing noise—like a bird—and presses into the apparently soothing touch, his eyes closing in contentment. Dean indulges him for a moment before carefully grabbing the wings at the swoopy bones and gently spreading them open to get a better look at the injury, hating that his experience with wings pretty much starts and stops at chickens both at the Harvelle Ranch and on his plate.

He can still see the hilt of the blade, and only knows how deep it's buried because he'd put it there himself. As such, as Dean starts gently moving the feathers out of the way to try to see the flesh it's buried in, he begins worrying about what the knife might have hit on its way in. What if it hit a muscle? A nerve? Blood vessels or veins? He's starting to realize he's extremely unprepared to deal with this…

He carefully wraps a hand around the blade's handle and gives a good tug, trying to see how hard it will be to try to remove. Castiel cries out and his good wing whacks Dean in the side of the head, making him see weird little white spots for a second. Before he can apologize, Dean hears the front door creak open and freezes.

"Get under the bed," Dean hisses at his friend as he starts frantically shoving all the medical supplies he'd gotten under the nightstand.

He helps Castiel get under the bed as footsteps echo up the staircase, and manages to lay down on top of his bed and grab a random book just as the door opens. Thankfully, it's only Sam, who looks kind of bewildered to see him at all.

"Hey, Sammy," he greets with a tense grin, flipping the page in what he now recognizes as one of Sam's nerdy law books. Great…

"Dean? What are you doing here?" Sam's expression morphs into a bitchface. "And what are you doing reading my books? I thought you said they were too boring to stomach."

The floorboards under Dean's bed creak as Castiel apparently shifts, which Dean tries to cover up with a quiet cough, clearing his throat. "What, I can't take an interest in what my brother's learning about these days?"

"Uh huh, sure. So why's there a pair of bare feet sticking out from under your bed?" Sam asks, unimpressed. At that moment, Castiel shifts again (a nervous tic?) and hisses as one limb or another whacks against the bottom of the bed, which only makes Sam look even less impressed. "Seriously, Dean? You know, I've had to cover for you all week with Dad. He was super pissed you've been gone every day up until the second he skipped down for a new hunt. The least you could do is introduce me to your friend—"

"No!" Dean says too loudly, shooting up from the bed in an instant to get between Sam and Castiel. This startles the bitchface right off of Sam to be replaced by one of shock. "I…I mean…"

"Dean…what's under your bed?"

Dean's about to answer (with a lie, admittedly) when he realizes with a start that Sam had asked what is under his bed and not who. Startled, Dean's eyes drop to the floor to see what is definitely part of Castiel's wing bent awkwardly and sticking out of the gap between the wall and Dean's bed, the feathers rustling a little as he shifts yet again.

"Dean," Sam prompts again, eyes wide with some mix of horror and worry.

"Look, Sammy, I can explain," Dean starts, eyes flicking between Castiel's occasionally twitching wing and Sam's now-concerned look. "Uh…"

"Well?"

He shrinks down a little. "I can't explain," he admits. "This goes pretty deep. Uh…remember Cas?"

At his name, Castiel's feathers puff up and he sneezes, but the noise sounds weird and inhuman in the cutest way, which is such a weird thought since it's a freakin' sneeze. A long pause follows as Dean stares at Sam and Sam stares at Dean, unmoving and unsure how to react.

"Sorry," Castiel says after a moment, voice muffled by the furniture he's still unsubtly hiding under. "It's very dusty under your bed, Dean."

"Dude, no," Sam says, eyes wide. "Tell me you didn't…"

"Remember that bird monster thing I was hunting a while ago?"

Sam just groans. "Dad's gonna kill you…"

"Dad's not gonna find out," Dean refutes, giving his brother a stern look until Sam rolls his eyes and nods. Sam owes him, anyway, for all the dogs he's helped him stash up here for all of a couple weeks. "Great. Now come on out, Cas, and meet my brother."

Castiel squirms his way out from under the bed, chest still bare and wings exposed and now slightly dusty. The second he's standing, he sneezes again and his wings puff up to release a big cloud of dust that slowly drifts to the floor. Apparently distracted, Castiel goes to try to brush more of the dust from his wings instead of looking at Sam.

"Uh, this is Cas," Dean tells the wide-eyed Sam. "Cas, this is Sam." Castiel looks at Sam for a moment before nodding a little and going back to grooming. He hopes Castiel's atypical, quirky personality doesn't rub Sam the wrong way, as Sam's opinion of Castiel is kind of the only one he cares about. "So…"

"Dad's gonna kill both of us," Sam surmises with a grimace, and Dean can't help but agree.

-

"Wait, have you never actually seen a human before Dean?" Sam asks from the opposite bed in disbelief and shock, pausing from where he's been furiously taking notes for the past half hour.

"I have, just not since I was very young and my wings were small enough to hide more easily." Sam nods and writes more like the nerd he is. Castiel, meanwhile, bumps the edge of his wing into Dean's hand again, urging him to continue his petting. Dean rolls his eyes, even though he's behind Castiel and knows his friend can't see it. "I'm not sure how people even knew I existed, let alone why they thought I eat humans."

"You were an easy target. The Vulture of Death in the woods that no one ever sees," Sam reasons with a shrug, lowering his pen back to his paper. "Now, what about your diet?"

"Shouldn't we be focusing more on fixing Cas' wings?" Dean interrupts, and Sam only sighs and closes his journal to pull another book off the shelf.

"Yeah, I've been thinking about that. I'm not exactly a bird expert, but we definitely need someone who is." Sam frowns down at something in the book before looking back up at them. "I can't find anything about whether you should disturb old stab wounds that still have the knife in them, since most people just try to get it out way before tissue has the chance to build up again and pseudo-heal." His brother pauses to look at Castiel. "Why didn't you take it out before, again?"

"I couldn't reach it," Castiel replies conversationally, as if they're talking about unusual weather patterns for the time of year and the knife currently buried in Castiel's wing. "It's hard for me to reach most of my wings, including that area."

Dean looks down guiltily, but before anyone can draw attention to that, he suggests, "Why don't we ask Jo? She keeps chickens around."

"Can we ask her to bring chickens?" Castiel feels the need to twist around to ask, looking up at Dean with big, hopeful eyes. "I like chickens."

Dean averts his gaze before he does something like kiss him with his brother watching four feet away. He does ruffle his friend's messy hair, though. "Uh, maybe later, buddy." Sam eyes them curiously, but wisely doesn't comment. "So let's go grab Jo, I guess."

"Wait, maybe we should go to Jo's house instead. Dad won't be back for a few days, so we can just stay over there."

Dean considers it before reluctantly agreeing with his brother. They put all the medical equipment back in Dean's bag and pack up some outfit changes and Dean helps Castiel back into his coat before they all leave the house. The trip to the little Harvelle Ranch is longer than it should've been, but only because Dean can't remember the last time he's visited there voluntarily—as in, without Jo dragging him by the elbow to help with one thing or another. Sam doesn't comment on the fact that he and Castiel are holding hands or riding on the same horse, though, which is a definite plus.

When they finally get to the ranch, it's nearing sunset; if his dad was home, he'd be in trouble for staying out so late. Ellen and Jo are always at the ranch by sunset instead of the Roadhouse so they can milk the cows or something, so Dean knows they'll be there, anyway. The ranch was the original business Ellen owned alongside her husband, but money was tight after his death, so she opened up a little diner in town since cooked food sells for more than raw food.

Dean doesn't see Ellen or Jo anywhere, but he does quickly spot Ash, the ranch hand after his own business didn't pan out, standing by the fence. Ash doesn't turn around when they approach on horseback, with Dean and Castiel on Impala and Sam on his own horse called Bones, but he looks over his shoulder when they stop behind him.

"Sam. Dean. Weird guy," he says as a greeting. "What can I do for you?"

Ash, like Pamela, gets off on saying all kinds of cryptic crap. Ash must think it makes him look cool and mysterious, especially paired with his outlandish hairstyle that's 'business in the front, party in the back'. Everyone just kind of thinks he's a bit of a tool, though he's good with electricity and even wired up the Roadhouse himself.

"Hey, Ash. Ellen and Jo back yet?"

"Jo's in the cow barn, but I don't know where Ellen is." With that, Ash turns back away to stare at the sunset or something, muttering something about horses and matchsticks as Dean thanks him and steers Impala towards the barn, Sam and Bones in tow.

When they get to the barn and carefully dismount their horses, allowing Impala and Bones to wander in the secure ranch, they find Jo trying to milk a cow that clearly doesn't want to be milked. The animal's tail whacks her in the face and she growls in frustration, only to light up when she sees the three of them.

"Oh, good, a distraction. My mom won't yell at me if I'm talking with friends," she says, brushing her hands off on her pants and standing up. "Hey, I don't suppose any of you know how to milk a cow. My mom's the one that usually does it, but she had to pick up some things."

"Afraid you're fresh outta luck, Jo. But, uh, hey, listen, we need to ask a favor." Jo nods wordlessly, intrigued. "So, you know a lot about birds, since you have chickens…"

"I know enough to keep them alive and running until we butcher them, yeah," Jo allows, and all the blood drains from Castiel's face as he abruptly goes pale, apparently not realizing that a lot of the chickens are for eating. "Why, what's up?"

"What do you do when a chicken's hurt?"

"Depends on the age and the injury. Usually just kill them if it's too bad and they're mature, but I would rather let the young ones heal what they can."

Castiel makes a strangled noise and looks away, wandering off to find consolation in the cow Jo was trying to milk.

Jo raises an eyebrow at the behavior and turns to Dean. "What's wrong with your boyfriend? Didn't he know we raise all the dudes for meat?"

Dean glances over at the woeful Castiel kicking around a lone rock and looking miserable. "Dunno. Guess not."

Sam clears his throat loudly. "We're getting off topic. What would you do for an injury on a wing?"

Jo shrugs and distractedly brushes some hay off her clothes. "What kind of injury?"

"Like a…an old stab wound?" Jo's eyes narrow in suspicion, but Sam presses forward. "The blade is only, like, four inches, but we…we don't know how wings work. We were hoping you'd have a better idea."

"Well, I'm afraid I don't know more about birds than I have to. I guess I know where some of the tendons and bones and stuff are whenever I make chicken wings or something for the Roadhouse, but I mostly just clip the chickens' feathers around here and butcher 'em up sometimes—"

There's a loud clattering sound, and Dean's head snaps up to see Castiel crumpled to the ground and a few empty milk pails on their sides. He rushes forward and turns his friend until he looks into the pale, unconscious face. Dean figures he must not be getting enough air since the entire barn smells like cow crap, so he fans a hand in front of Castiel's nose and mouth, looking up worriedly at Sam and Jo for guidance.

"He okay?" Jo asks, and Dean can only flash a weak grin.

"Weak stomach, I guess," he offers before he realizes Castiel is coming to, eyelids fluttering before peeling open. "Hey, buddy. You okay?"

Castiel nods wordlessly, looking around warily over Dean's shoulder. "We're on the floor," he notes, frowning.

"Yeah. You passed out," Dean says, helping Castiel off the ground and slinging the shorter man's arm around his shoulder, both to keep him upright and to be close. He then addresses Jo again. "So would you know enough to patch up a wing or not?"

Jo shrugs lightly. "I mean, I guess. Why, whatcha got?"

"Maybe we should take this inside," Sam suggests before anyone can say anything, looking over his shoulder worriedly.

Dean follows his brother's line of sight and sees Ash watching them in the distance. "Yeah, good idea."

The four of them all bustle inside the house Jo and Ellen (and Bobby, sometimes) call home. It's one-story and smells like a milder version of the barn's odor mixed with old cedar, but it's kind of cozy and has two guest rooms he and Sam sometimes take when their dad is too much to handle (which is frequently).

Jo's room is surprisingly neat even with the three large pillows sitting on her bed. Dean immediately guides Castiel to sit down on the edge of the bed, which earns a sour look from Jo that he decidedly ignores. If she was really upset about it, she would've broken somebody's nose already.

"Take off your coat, Cas," Dean orders, carefully laying out all the medical equipment from his bag on the nearby nightstand. Castiel looks up with big, worried eyes, so Dean runs a hand through his hair for a second with the promise of more to come. "Go on, it's okay."

Castiel looks down and unties the strap of his coat, but he pauses to look up at Dean again questioningly. Jo whispers questions to Sam unsubtly, which just makes Castiel more hesitant. Eventually, Dean is able to convince him to take his trench coat off. Castiel doesn't spread his wings, but Dean knows Jo can see them anyway from where they're folded against his back.

He runs his fingers through his friend's feathers encouragingly and chances a glance at Jo when Castiel closes his eyes and relaxes into it. Jo's eyes are locked on Castiel's feathery appendages, watching the way they puff up each time Dean's hand cards through the feathers. The cute trilling, purring sound Castiel starts making as he tries to scoot closer to Dean's magic fingers probably doesn't help.

"What the hell," Jo finally expresses, but Castiel doesn't even react, apparently too distracted to hear her. "What…what the hell. Is that the bird monster from the forest that eats people?"

"He's not a monster," Dean replies firmly. "He's still just Cas. Just…with wings. Winged Cas."

"That doesn't explain why he's your pet."

That's enough for Dean to snap, "Look, he's my friend, and he needs help. So if you can get over your little qualms and help me get the knife out of his wing, that'd be great."

Jo stares at him for a long moment before huffing and crossing her arms. "Fine. Where's the cut?"

Dean retracts his hand from Castiel's wing, getting his startled attention again so that he can turn Castiel around. Unfortunately, the cute sounds stop as his friend's contentment is replaced by nervousness and apprehension that only gets worse when Jo steps closer to get a better look. Dean wonders if Castiel thinks Jo's planning on clipping his wings or making him into a chicken wing special or something, but wisely decides against asking.

"Wow. I'm staring at a knife in a giant wing," is all Jo decides to say.

"Which you're gonna help us get out, by the way."

Jo rolls her eyes, but catches Castiel's wary eye for a moment. She finally sighs and says, "Yeah, why not? I'll do what I can."

They draw straws like mature adults and decide that Sam should be the one to actually extract the knife, since Dean cares too much about Castiel and Jo cares too little. They start by having Dean get him to relax by petting his wings before Sam carefully tries to cut through the skin around the wound with a small scalpel, Jo standing nearby with a towel ready to keep blood from spilling on her bedsheets.

Then it gets harder. Castiel is laying down on his stomach, tense even with a healthy dosage of wing petting and soothing words, as Sam tries to dislodge the knife by rocking it back and forth. Castiel hisses when Sam tries to pull it, so Sam tries to cut deeper, but then that starts hurting.

Blood is steadily flowing from all sides of the injury and is spreading into Castiel's previously pristine black feathers, and Jo is too invested to even complain about the blood on her bed. The knife is just loose enough to wiggle from side to side with Sam's strategic cuts along the sides of the knife's blade, and with Jo's encouragement, Sam grabs hold of the knife's handle and pulls.

Castiel screams as the blade is yanked from his flesh, his wings flaring out and hitting each of them in the head and splattering tiny drops of blood all over the place. Jo hurriedly presses the already blood soaked towel over the injury that is now gushing blood while Dean frantically tries to quiet the now crying Castiel down. Sam, meanwhile, looks between the knife in his hand and Dean's sobbing friend like he's committed a murder.

The entire room is in a state of anguished chaos, so naturally, this is when the door to Jo's room, which Jo had assured earlier was locked, bursts open to reveal none other than Ellen Harvelle and Bobby Singer.

There's a tense moment as everyone freezes, though Castiel keeps quietly crying and nudging his tear-streaked face into Dean's leg in a desperate search for comfort from his pain. Dean offers what he can in the form of wing and hair petting, but there's not much he can do.

Finally, Bobby sighs. "Why couldn't we have caught you having sex or something normal?"

That sends Ellen into action and she quickly steps forward to take Jo's place, pressing a fresh towel she used her mom powers to magically make appear over the wound to try to stop the bleeding. Jo steps back easily to stand beside the still frozen Sam, who's looking more than a little green around the gills.

"What on earth are you doing to this poor boy?" Ellen demands, briefly running her free hand over his wing before turning the full force of her parental glare to Dean. "For your sake, you better have a good explanation for this."

"He-he had a knife in his wing and we," Dean swallows, trying, "we fixed it?"

Ellen pulls the towel away and peeks at the wound before replacing it and shaking her head. "You call that 'fixed'? There's a hole in his w-wing!" Even with her slight stumble over the word, her words are firm and distinctly disapproving.

"Uh…"

"Out, everyone out," Ellen cuts in, shooing the three younger people out of the room. "Bobby, help me fix this up right. Grab that towel and shut the door."

The door closes in their faces, and the three of them go back to the living room area to sit down silently.

"We're in so much trouble," Jo finally sighs.

"Don't care, as long as Cas is all right." Sam nods in agreement, and they fall silent again.

"You think Ellen and Bobby can fix him?" Sam asks quietly, worried. "He was bleeding a lot…"

"Hey, my mom's the best at patching me up when I do something stupid. Cas'll be fine." Jo nods confidently, but her expression is drawn and worried. "I'm more worried about us, honestly. You're lucky you're both adults now. I'll be grounded for a year at this rate."

"We really appreciate the help, anyway," Dean says, and Sam nods to that, too.

The wait seems like forever until the door finally opens. Bobby steps out first with three unsalvageable bloody towels that go straight into the garbage, and Ellen is rubbing Castiel's shoulder while he sniffles beside her and wipes at his eyes.

Dean shoots up from the couch and rushes to Castiel. His wing is all bandaged up and the feathers below are matted and stuck together with his own blood thanks to that jerk gravity, but he seems all right. "Cas! Are you okay?"

Castiel smiles up at him weakly, eyes still wet but not with any new tears. "I'm okay. Ellen made it better." He glances up at her. "Thank you."

"'Course, hun." Ellen rounds to face Dean. "Now, mind telling me why he had a knife in his wing in the first place?"

"I-it's my fault," Dean answers quickly. "I was…trying to capture the…big bird in the woods?" He forces a tense and awkward smile. "It wasn't a bird."

"I'm not a bird," Castiel confirms, nodding to himself as Ellen's eyes grow wide. To her credit, she doesn't say anything.

"And your solution is to try to remove it yourself? You're barely adults, and Jo doesn't even like to butcher anything herself if she doesn't have to." Ellen shakes her head. "What were you thinking?"

"This is a whole new brand of stupid, boy," Bobby agrees from the other side of the room. "Surgeries are risky enough without an idjit on the other end of the knife."

"Well, this isn't exactly the kind of thing I thought we'd be able to go to people about," Dean argues, looking pointedly towards Castiel's folded wings. "Thought the less people that knew, the better."

Ellen nods wordlessly and seems deep in thought. After a moment, she turns and claps Castiel lightly on the shoulder, startling him into looking up at her. "Why don't you go get cleaned up? Bathroom's down the hall, first door on the right."

Castiel goes down the hallway, wings twitching behind him up until he disappears behind the bathroom door. Ellen then gestures for Dean to follow her back into Jo's room, where Dean notices that the bed is striped and the bloody sheets lie crumpled in the corner.

This is when Ellen sighs and says, "What do you plan on doing with him?"

"What are you talking about? He's my friend. He's gonna stay with me," he replies instantly, voice hard and guarded.

Ellen purses her lips. "I'm not saying he's a monster, Dean, but he's not human. You can't keep wild animals in the house because you can't domesticate them. No matter how much you teach them, they'll always be wild animals."

"Now wait—"

"I'm not saying he's an animal either, but he is wild, Dean, and not just 'cause of the wings. He's not a pet, and he's not human."

"He can be. He-he can talk and think and have opinions and everything, just like us!" Dean protests. "He's not a pet—he's a person."

"He's lived in the forest for so long, Dean," Ellen continues. "I've been hearing stories since before Jo was born. That's the kind of upbringing you just can't get out of someone, and that's why he isn't the same as you and me—not because of his wings. In his roots, he'll always be wild, and you have to accept that and choose what to do with that knowledge."

Dean looks down and considers her words. This is when he hears Castiel say, "How do I make the water go? It won't go."

Ellen gives him a sympathetic look and nods for him to leave, because she doesn't have all these invisible barriers generously called expectations like his dad has. When Dean goes into the bathroom, he notices the things usually neatly displayed on a shelf are on the ground. Castiel follows his gaze and looks down at his still bare feet.

"My wing bumped that over."

"That's okay. Let's just getcha cleaned up, yeah?" Dean sits Castiel down on the edge of the tub and turns the faucet on to wet a washcloth, running the damp rag through the feathers on Castiel that are clumped together with blood. He relaxes into the sensation easily, closing his eyes and resting the side of his head on Dean's chest. "Hm, feels good, huh?"

"Yes. Thank you." He peeks one eye open. "For everything."

"'Course, buddy." They fall into a silence until Dean asks, "Hey, Cas…what do you wanna do?"

Castiel tilts his head, considering. "Sleep. And maybe eat. After I'm clean." He nods, as if this is the greatest answer in history, and Dean can't help but crack a fond smile. "Will you read to me? That's very, uhh…pleasant."

Dean's beginning to realize that Castiel's vocabulary is a little limited (notably when he tries to describe something that's enjoyable in some way), but he doesn't mind. He wonders what Ellen might think about that, though… "Sounds like a plan, but, uh, I meant, like, more long-term. We've gotcha all patched up, so…what now?"

Castiel tilts his head again and doesn't answer for a long time, until most of the blood is wiped from his wings. Finally, he replies, "Jo said I may be able to get a job here, watching over the chickens. That sounds pleasant."

Dean nods and bites his lip, considering what to say. "Ellen thinks it'd be best if you went back home, to the forest."

Castiel frowns. "You are my home. The forest is just…lots of trees."

"And you are a sap." Dean kisses his forehead, just because he hasn't in a while, and smiles. "You really wanna stay here?"

"Why wouldn't I?" He looks genuinely baffled by the idea that he wouldn't be staying before some of his old self-loathing starts peeking through and he looks down. "Unless you'd…rather I left…"

"No, no, of course I want you here. But most of all, I want you to be happy. Want what's best for you, y'know?" Castiel frowns, like he's never heard of the idea of someone caring about him before. "Look, I'm not one for saying this, but I…I love you, Cas, all right? Believe me when I say I don't wanna give that up."

"It's probably good that I don't either, then," Castiel says with a small, private smile that Dean just wants to kiss off. So he does, cupping the smaller man's face and drawing him close for a kiss and then a hug. "I've missed your kisses," his friend murmurs into his shoulder with a soft sigh.

Dean chuckles fondly and plants another small kiss on his temple before forcing himself to pull away. He starts running soap and water over what feathers he can reach that aren't covered in bandages, watching pink fill the tub and swirl down the drain. When he's finished and there's no more blood to wash away, he dries Castiel's wings off with a towel, making them all soft and fluffy, but incredibly and unnaturally dry.

"Your wings are super dry now," he comments with a frown.

"They need to be coated in my, uh, wing oil." Dean must pull a face that Castiel misinterprets, because he then adds, "I can do that myself. You don't have to worry about it."

"I don't mind," Dean assures. "Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

So he spends the next twenty minutes kneeling beside the bathtub and rubbing this weird oil into Castiel's wings, his only companion the rumbling purr emanating from his friend at the sensation and the persistent ache in his poor kneecaps. Once he's finished, the wings are all glossy again, but not wet in any way. It's…kind of weird, but they're not dry so he figures it's okay. Dean finishes actually fixing up the wings at some point, but continues petting them anyway until someone knocks on the door and asks if they're all right.

"Thank you, Dean. You did not have to do that," Castiel says when they start trying to rearrange the mess of supplies on the floor—which is mostly just Dean putting stuff back and Castiel looking at all the labels in silent fascination.

"Dude, I really don't mind. Especially with all those cute sounds you make." At this, Castiel tilts his head again in a silent question. "You know, the little purring noise you make when I pet your wings."

The smaller man's face and ears go entirely and endearingly pink. "I-I make sounds?"

"You didn't know?" He wordlessly shakes his head and looks down, looking mortified, so Dean cups his face and kisses his pink cheek. "I don't mind, it's really cute."

Castiel flushes further, but there's another knock at the door, so they finish things up and leave the bathroom to find Sam and Bobby on the couch and Ellen preparing something in the kitchen while Jo sets the table.

"Whatever happened in that bathroom better be PG," Bobby says the second they're in sight before he gets up with a grunt and makes his way to the kitchen to say something to Ellen.

"Hey, Cas," Sam greets with a smile as Dean and Castiel go to sit beside them on the couch. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired, but okay."

"That's good." Sam stays silent for all of five seconds before blurting out, "I'm sorry for hurting you earlier. I-I should've been more careful, or-or gotten someone that actually knows what they're doing to help—"

"It's all right, Sam," Castiel says quickly. "You did your best, and it ended up being okay. I'm okay."

"We should still splint that wing of yours, Castiel," Ellen cuts in. "Maybe we'll do that after dinner, if I can find something to do it with."

"What's for dinner, Ellen?" Dean asks tactlessly.

"Fish burgers." Castiel makes a face at that—probably because he's eaten fish until it came out his ears for who knows how long—but he doesn't actually comment on that. Ellen does pause, though, and adds, "Unless there are any dietary needs I should be aware of."

Castiel just shakes his head, and light conversation carries on until they're called in to eat. Dean notes with amusement that Castiel looks like he's preparing for war as he goes to sit down, only pausing for a moment to be impressed by the thing that is a chair before they all sit down.

"All right, who wants to say grace?" Ellen asks, even though Dean's pretty sure she isn't even religious or anything.

"I will," Bobby volunteers once it becomes clear no one else is; he's probably just hungry enough that he doesn't mind, as he's not the religious type, either. The man clasps his hands together and clears his throat. "Grace." He then picks up his burger and takes a bite while Ellen rolls her eyes.

Dean watches Castiel's reaction to the food, and notices his face light up upon taking a bite. "This tastes nothing like fish," he marvels quietly to Dean, wings twitching behind him.

"It's good, right?"

Castiel nods so quickly Dean's surprised his head doesn't pop right off. "It's much more good."

"Yeah, that's what cooking does to things. Makes them taste not gross." It also kills diseases off or something but Dean doubts Castiel even knows what that is and he doesn't feel like telling him about it. Dean then becomes aware of three sets of eyes on them and asks a little defensively, "What?"

"Your friend eats raw fish?" Bobby asks incredulously.

"Damn. That's kinda hardcore," Jo remarks around her fish burger, earning a sharp look from Ellen, though Dean's not sure if it's for her poor manners, her language, or her encouragement of something potentially harmful.

"You're gonna make yourself sick, boy," Bobby continues, and they apparently are going to start talking about diseases from raw meat today…

Castiel cocks his head. "Why?"

"Ya can't just go around eating raw meat—"

"Maybe he can digest it," Sam suggests.

"Or he just got used to it," Dean tries, not wanting to highlight anything that might be viewed as strange in relation to his friend, who Ellen already views as 'wild'. "Like how people that drink milk a lot don't get sick when they…drink…milk."

Dean trails off, realizing the statement makes no sense. Thankfully, Ellen takes the opportunity to look at Jo and say, "That reminds me, where's the milk from today? I didn't see any when I came in."

Jo shifts in her seat and stuffs the rest of her burger in her face to avoid answering, but Ellen isn't done with her yet.

"Now, you know the cows are on a schedule to be milked at a certain time, and I was too busy today to do it. I expect you to be responsible, young lady—"

Dean kind of drowns out the rest of the lecture; no use listening if it isn't even for him, right? He focuses on finishing his fish burger, instead, and helps Castiel hold the burger correctly. After dinner, Sam and Jo are sent to retrieve the milk while Ellen puts new sheets on Jo's bed. Bobby, meanwhile, searches with Dean for something that can be used as a splint for Castiel's misaligned wing bone—the one that Dean had caused when he shot bolas at him.

They eventually settle on a thin wooden plank that was supposed to be used for fixing a little hole in the chicken coop (the squirmy bastards could do with a little cold air, in Dean's opinion, so he doesn't feel bad at all). After cleaning the plank thoroughly and cutting it to what looked to be about the right size, Bobby sat Castiel down on the bed and looked over his wing, considering, before deciding to let Ellen do it, since she knew more about bird wings than him.

Ellen maneuvers Castiel's wing this way and that and Castiel sits and endures it silently until he asks, "What's a splint? I'm unfamiliar with that term."

"It's a thing you put on a broken bone to keep it from moving, so it can heal better," Dean explains, combing through the feathers of Castiel's good wing.

"But my bones are not broken."

"Not broken, but this one here didn't heal right," Ellen says, tapping a finger over the odd bend along the arch of his right wing before she places the plank against it. "Dean, hold this on for me."

Dean holds the plank to the malformed bend in the wing and looks to make sure he isn't hurting his friend, but Castiel doesn't even seem to notice the action, apparently deep in thought if the scrunched up look on his face is anything to go by. Ellen bends his bad wing carefully a few times, probably to get a better idea of how it works and what she needs to bind, before she begins wrapping the wing in closer to Castiel's body and binding it tightly.

When she's finished, Ellen pats Castiel on shoulder, startling him. "There ya go, hun. How's that feel?"

Castiel shifts and tries to move the wing, only to discover that he can't, and he subsequently goes pale. "I-I can't move it." He tries even harder to bend the wing as he starts freaking out, so Dean quickly jumps in.

"Hey, hey," he starts, grabbing hold of the bound wing and holding it close to Castiel's side, stilling its movement. "Just relax, okay? It's supposed to be like that. You're not supposed to move it."

Castiel looks at him with that same expression he had when Dean told him clothes are technically made from sheep and therefore aren't vegan-friendly but doesn't say anything, accepting the information. The wing twitches in Dean's grip, so Dean smooths his hand over the tense muscles, soothing his friend.

"This feels…strange," Castiel comments haltingly, attempting to move his wing again only to discover it plastered against his side.

"Just stop moving it. Try to relax," Dean says, looking briefly at Ellen for her approval.

"It's…hard."

Ellen stands up and ruffles Castiel's already messy hair. "Just try to get used to it. If it's still bothering you tomorrow, I'll try something different."

"Why did she do that to my hair?" Castiel asks when Ellen is out the doorway, and Dean can only chuckle and ruffle his hair in response.

Bedtime is…eventful. There are only two guest rooms for four people, and after lots of awkward shuffling, Bobby eventually just went home since he didn't live too far from the ranch, anyway. Sam takes one of the guest rooms for himself, and Dean and Castiel share. It's not really any different than what they did in the cave, except that they had a blanket now and they'll be lying down.

Castiel's first reaction upon entering the room is to drop onto the rug before Dean rolls his eyes and tells him to get in the damn bed. Before Dean is allowed in the bed, however, Castiel flops down and rolls around on his back, rubbing his face and wings against every square inch of the bedsheets. Only when Castiel is apparently satisfied with his work and staring down at the thoroughly tousled and vaguely oily sheets is Dean allowed to lay down.

The second they're both laying down what Dean would call a reasonable distance apart given the small, usually one-person bed, Castiel rolls over onto his stomach and buries the length of his body into Dean's side. His bad wing is carefully out of the way as his good wing fans over them like another impossibly warm blanket, and Dean pretends to be annoyed by it even though it's unreasonably cozy.

Still, thank goodness it's winter.

Chapter Text

(4,234 words)

Dean's, like, 90% sure he wakes up in an oven, because there's nothing else he can think of that's that oppressively warm. But no, Castiel's just decided to lay on top of him at some point during the night. He's still asleep, drooling a little on Dean's shirt and mumbling to himself. Dean tries to be annoyed, but can't quite manage it. Regardless, he shakes his friend awake so they can go down to breakfast before Sam eats everything and gets even taller.

Trying to get Castiel to take a shower is an uphill battle, Dean quickly realizes. He's probably never even been in a bathroom before yesterday, so it's not entirely surprising that he would prefer to bathe in the lake, despite the frigid temperature. Dean eventually relents after Castiel agrees to have his injured wings cleaned indoors, and Dean takes a civilized shower inside while Castiel goes outside to soak in the little lake near the Harvelle Ranch.

When Dean comes out, Castiel still isn't back. He shrugs it off and eats a warm breakfast, enjoying hearing Jo and Sam argue over what the best kind of egg is while Ellen helpfully adds comments about how the eggs for the day still need to be harvested, to which Jo quickly volunteers Castiel since they chickens actually like him, which…fair point, but it's still rude to dump work on the guest, probably.

After breakfast, Dean goes out to search for his friend with a mental list of chores in mind to earn his keep at the ranch. He figures since he can't exactly bring Castiel to his home, he'd probably have to stay here eventually, so he starts trying to think of things Castiel might be able to help out with. As he goes, he brushes out Ellen's two horses along with Impala and Bones and makes sure to feed them and give them water. Dean later joins Sam in the barn to feed the cows and the three sheep Ellen had been so generously gifted a few months ago, searching for Castiel the entire time.

Dean eventually finds him sitting up in the hayloft covered in straw, contently half-hanging out the little hole in the wall they generously called a window. Notably, he's not wearing a shirt or anything, wings fully on display for anyone who might walk by.

"Cas, what are you doing up there?" Dean calls, and Castiel twists around to face him before standing and turning fully towards Dean. "Geez, how'd you even get up there?"

Castiel spreads his one wing like he's about to fly down before visibly faltering when his bad wing doesn't flair out. He then suddenly looks nervous, making a quiet clicking sound as his head turns to look for possible escape options, and for one awful second, Dean thinks he might jump.

Seeing that he's clearly not getting down as easily as he went up, he rushes to say, "Hey, I'll get a ladder or something. Sammy, grab Jo."

Sam nods once and runs from the barn and Dean's eyes dart around to search for a ladder as Castiel grows more and more distressed. Finally, Sam and Jo come in with an old ladder under their arms that he can only hope will support his friend. Getting someone who has never seen a ladder to climb down a ladder is…hard. Dean eventually has to climb up to the hayloft and demonstrate, helping Castiel down carefully as the ladder creaks in protest every five seconds.

Once that's over, they give Castiel his trench coat back (mostly so Ash and any visitors to the ranch can't see his wings) and have Ellen fix the splint so he can move his wing a little more. Afterwards, Jo takes him to collect eggs from the chickens while Sam and Dean help fix that hole in the barn wall and Ellen milks the cows. Chickens don't really lay eggs in the winter, but for some reason they can if they have a light hooked up in the coop. Weird.

Dean doesn't actually see Castiel again until Ellen and Jo leave to work at the Roadhouse. It's past lunchtime, and Sammy makes the best sandwiches, so Dean seeks out his friend to give him one. He eventually finds Castiel dozing off inside the chicken coop, surrounded by sleeping and content chickens. It's a little weird, especially since the coop is only a little bigger than Castiel's entire body and probably couldn't even fit him if both his wings were out, but it's strangely endearing and Dean has trouble shaking him awake.

"Hey, buddy. Hungry?" he asks when Castiel groggily blinks up at him through where the roof to the coop is on hinges and can fold half open. "This what you do all day? Snooze with birds?"

Castiel just makes a quiet clicking noise and accepts the proffered sandwich, taking a big bite and offering smaller pieces to the chickens that are slowly awakening. They cluck happily and accept everything they're given eagerly, and Castiel's wings, that have come out the sides of his coat for whatever reason, puff up in response.

"I'm not sure they should be eating that, Cas," Dean remarks hesitantly. Castiel looks up at him and tilts his head, so he adds, "All that bread probably isn't good for them, and anyway, they have their own food."

Surprisingly, he obeys and stops feeding the chickens. Dean swears the little monsters shoot him nonstop dirty looks after that, in between flapping their wings to try to snatch bits of sandwich from an unresisting Castiel.

"Sooo, what are your plans for the day?"

The smaller man considers the question before deciding, "Spending more time here. With the chickens."

"What? Why?" Dean asks, genuinely baffled by the idea of anyone voluntarily spending their afternoon in a tiny wooden structure barely big enough to sit upright in that smells horrible, especially with the only escape for someone bigger than a chicken being the little miracles known as hinges that prop half the roof up.

"They are my flock," he answers, and that's exactly the opposite of what Dean wants to hear.

"Cas, no. A lot of these chickens—they're gonna end up in somebody's belly—"

At his words, Castiel's good wing fans out and mantles over the apathetic chickens and he growls, though it's more endearing than intimidating—like a little kitten hissing at someone and expecting them to back down. "They will not."

"Cas—" he starts helplessly.

"I'll protect them," Castiel says firmly, nodding to himself. "They are my friends."

Dean realizes this is one battle he won't be winning, and suggests half-jokingly, "Why don't you talk to Ellen about that?" Castiel's eyes light up, like he just came up with a wonderful idea, and Dean sighs and ruffles his hair. "Well, I guess I'll leave you to it, then. I'll be around if you need anything, okay?"

"Okay." Dean takes a step back when Castiel suddenly says, "Wait." Confused, he halts so Castiel can lean up and nuzzle his face into Dean's neck, making a little chirping sound as he goes. Finally, Castiel pulls back and smiles. "Now okay."

Dean chuckles and lightly kisses his hair before heading back across the ranch to go inside. On the way there, it occurs to Dean that that's the first time Castiel had initiated a 'kiss'. It then occurs to Dean that Castiel…well, he isn't 'human,' at least not entirely, and he probably has no idea what kissing even means or is or why Dean keeps doing it. But he hasn't complained, so he must not mind. Still, it makes Dean wonder just how much Castiel understands that what they have isn't purely a friendship…

Castiel is officially enamored by the chickens by the time Ellen and Jo come back from the Roadhouse for the day to start dinner. He even named them. Dear God, someone help them; everyone knows naming something is the beginning of the end. But still, he named the chickens—all ten of them.

By some miracle, Castiel has yet to figure out that the 'aggressive bird with the impressive tail' (Dean wonders for a second if he should be jealous) that was hostile towards him and the chickens earlier was actually a rooster, or a male chicken—which are the ones that usually get eaten first anyway since they don't lay eggs. That does result in Castiel thinking not all of the chickens are female, apparently, considering he'd named 'the loudest but kindest' one Dean and the one with the longest feathers Sam.

There's an Ellen and Jo in there, too, and Dean can't help but wonder what kinds of thoughts will go through their heads when they have to kill the chickens eventually. There's also one named Robby (because Castiel hasn't quite figured out Bobby's name, having only heard it a couple of times max), and the others are Pickles, Lettuce, Burger, Worm, and Stick. Dean's brain had absolutely no right to memorize such stupidly endearing names.

Surprisingly, Ellen is okay with Castiel naming the chickens, even though Dean remembers her getting upset years ago when he and Jo had gone around naming the cows, though he supposes naming something that can give you things without having to die is a little different than naming living and breathing food sources…

So Castiel is officially appointed to egg duty (not feeding, though, because those sneaky bastards would absolutely puppy-dog-eye their way into way more food than they need because there's no way Castiel wouldn't give it to them if they look pitiful enough), news which actually makes him tear up a little. Honestly, Dean would be crying too if he was given that news, though for a different reason than Castiel.

The night-time ritual is the same as last night: Dean rubs his eyes tiredly and stands beside the bed while Castiel rolls around on his back and gets the previously clean sheets all messy and vaguely oily, and then they lay down and Dean gets his own personal space heater for the night and a face full of feathers that tickles his nose all night and makes him feel like he has to sneeze every five seconds.

He is unexpectedly given a weird treat, however, when he runs his fingers through Castiel's wing and the favor is returned with the smaller man rubbing his face into Dean's shirt and then nipping at the fabric, pulling it away from Dean's body before dropping it and repeating the action. It's…it's really weird.

He considers asking what in the hell Castiel is doing for a few seconds before just going for it. "Uh…Cas? What are you doing?"

"You're preening me," Castiel says, and it takes Dean an embarrassing few seconds to figure out that he's referring to the wing petting, because of course there's a fancy word for it.

"Okay, and?"

"You don't have wings."

Dean blinks in surprise. "This…is the equivalent of preening?"

"I can stop if you find it…strange," the smaller man murmurs into his chest.

"Nah, I don't mind," Dean replies, redoubling his preening efforts. "It's a little weird, but oddly cute." Castiel makes a soft, almost embarrassed chirping sound that tapers off on the end in response, and Dean can't help but grin. "Yeah, kinda like that."

-

The next morning, Dean makes the horrible mistake of trying to wake Castiel up early. Apparently, Castiel is not an early bird and he's not getting up for any worms under any circumstances before he has to. Not that Dean's a morning person either, but Ellen and a reluctant Jo are, so anyone that stays at the ranch has to get up early, too. Gross. So they doze off again for all of ten minutes before Jo bursts in to yell at them. On the bright side, Jo had to get up earlier to get them up. Small victories.

He actually gets Castiel to step into the bathtub today and Dean washes his hair for him, only for him to shake all the water off like a dog when he's finished before Dean can grab a towel. Well, that fulfills Sammy's dream of wanting to get a dog. All he has to do now is teach Castiel how to play fetch and 'stay' (emphasis on the staying, because he seriously needs to learn that). Aaand that's enough thinking about his sort-of-boyfriend being rather dog-like. (Besides, if anything, he's more cat-like…or bird-like, maybe, though Dean hasn't been around enough birds to figure it out.)

Dean attempts to introduce Castiel to the wonders of a toothbrush, but doesn't do more than have him look at it and hold it and stare down at it uncomfortably while Dean brushes his own teeth in a demonstration. That's enough adventure for one day.

They go down for breakfast, and Ellen quickly asks from the stove, promptly preparing two plates for them, "What took you so long?"

Well, whatever. It's not their fault they're not used to waking up at the ass-crack of dawn. Oh well. At least the food is good. Better yet, there's no John Winchester at the Harvelle Ranch, which means no soldier routine or pretending to be someone he's not.

"I'm going to collect the eggs," Castiel announces happily after breakfast, out of his seat (Castiel always sits sideways on chairs so his wings can go out the back, and Dean's stopped pretending it's not weird) before the sentence is even fully out of his mouth.

Dean can't help but smirk. "Hey, Cas. Since you take care of the chickens, does that make you a chicken tender?"

Jo snorts into her plate from across the table, but Castiel just tilts his head. "I don't understand."

"Ah, forget it. Go grab the eggs." Castiel gives him a very awkward thumbs up and leaves quickly, apparently excited about the newest mundane farm chore Jo unsubtly dumped on him. "I wonder how many more of your chores you can convince him to do," Dean muses aloud. Sam smiles, but Jo kicks him in the shin, and Dean only refrains from retaliating because Ellen decides to turn around then and watch them.

Dean doesn't see Castiel again until that afternoon. A quick flip of the roof reveals he's sitting inside the chicken coop again, surrounded by spoiled little chickens. This time, Castiel is awake, however, and turns to greet Dean immediately.

"Hello, Dean."

"Whatcha doing in here, buddy?"

"Watching over the chickens," he answers, looking down meaningfully at the chicken that nestles itself underneath Castiel's trench coat and to his otherwise bare chest.

"You know they're totally fine on their own, right?"

Castiel frowns. "That aggressive bird with the impressive tail may return again. I can't leave them unprotected."

Dean rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure the chickens will be fine on their own, Cas. They're out here all the time." Castiel lifts a chicken up to look into its eyes at that before wordlessly handing it off to Dean. The once content bird squawks and tries to squirm away, so Dean holds it a little tighter. "Uh, hey…" he randomly pulls a name, guessing, "Pickle."

"That's Stick," Castiel corrects, carefully picking up another chicken and glancing down at it with a far too tender look on his face. He is so attached to these things… "This is Pickle."

"Dude, they all look exactly the same." Castiel's head snaps over to him, apparently affronted by the claim. "How can you even tell?"

"The red part on top of Pickle's head is much smaller than the ones on any of the others," he says, nodding to himself.

"Uh, right." Dean sets the chicken down before it can cause him bodily harm or vice versa. "Anyway. I wanted to show you around town a little more, if you want. Gotta pick up food and stuff. Sound fun?"

That finally gets Castiel's mind off of the chickens and he smiles, that awkward, gummy smile that proves he just isn't used to making that expression. Dean helps Castiel out through the roof of the chicken coop before closing it back up. He then saddles up Impala and helps Castiel on before getting on himself, making a mental note to think about getting his friend a horse of his own in the future. As is, it's a good thing Castiel is a lot lighter than a regular person or Impala would never be able to carry them both.

The town is crowded, but no more than usual and definitely not as packed as it was when Castiel last saw it, as there's no farmer's market today. Dean dismounts Impala and leaves her where all the horses stay, making sure to give her a blanket to fight off the chill of the winter air. He then grabs his bag and takes Castiel into town, helping him carefully dodge the group of people gossiping in front of the general store. Dean can only hope they're not still going on about the 'newcomer in the dirty coat'… 

In the time it takes for Dean to turn his back to look over a dried fruit display and turn back around, Castiel has managed to become the center of attention by squatting down to have a staring contest with a dirty stray dog with fleas visibly leaping around through its waves of fur. Dean's entire face flushes at all the attention his friend is getting and he quickly scares the dog away and takes Castiel by the hand to go to a different part of town. For his efforts, Castiel just tilts his head and asks what's wrong.

"You gotta stick close, Cas, you can't just wander off," Dean chastises with a huff, looking for another place to buy food from.

"I did not wander off. You could still see me."

"Yeah, well, don't interact with all the mangy mutts around town, then."

Castiel stares at him for a long moment before stating, "You're upset."

"I'm not—" Dean takes a deep breath to calm himself, having realized early on that yelling at Castiel is like yelling at a rock that can do puppy-dog eyes that rival even Sam's. "I'm not upset. I just don't want everyone staring at you. Nobody knows who you are, and this town is pretty close-knit. Don't need to draw more attention than you already are." Castiel nods solemnly, but Dean can tell he has no idea what he's talking about, so he adds, "Just stay close, all right?"

Castiel does not stay close. He continues to get distracted by all the things he's never seen before in each and every shop they go into, and Dean can't keep holding his hand when he's trying to shop. It eventually gets to the point where Dean just ties a rope to Castiel's wrist and connects it to his own. There's a distance between them, like a leash, but his friend has no choice but to stay close.

"Dean, what's that?" Castiel asks for the eighth time in a half an hour, and Dean turns to see him pointing at a scrappy little ball of misery that's already making Dean's allergies go.

"Just a cat," he replies anyway, shooing the thing away before Castiel decides to make that part of his flock, too.

Dean doesn't even get five seconds of repose before he hears, "What's that?" This time, it's an admittedly weird-looking bird that immediately makes a loud and annoying noise in some sort of a threat and spreads its wings. This, unfortunately, makes Castiel's eyes light up as he takes a step closer. "It's a chicken!"

"Dude, no. It's a gross pigeon or something." He tugs Castiel away and pretends not to see the small crowd they're creating.

At the next stand, Dean picks up a white button mushroom to show Castiel, only for his friend to say, "Oh. Moon mushrooms."

"Huh?"

"Moon mushrooms. They were Gabriel's favorite." Castiel suddenly looks sad and glances away.

"Who's Gabriel?"

"My brother. He…he's not here anymore." Dean blinks in surprise, it having never occurred to him that there might be more of…whatever Castiel is. He wonders if Castiel had a family, friends, but he's afraid to ask and afraid of the answer.

"What happened?" Dean does eventually ask.

"I'm not sure. I woke up one day and he was gone. I was alone." His friend looks away and says softly, "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

Dean doesn't know what to say to that, so he sets the mushrooms back down and goes to another stand, Castiel trailing behind him by the wrist until Dean takes his hand instead and gives it a reassuring squeeze. Sometimes he forgets Castiel must've had some sort of a life before he was dumped in the woods, left to fend for himself…

The next shop on the list is the one that makes the town's bread and always gives away one free slice for all new customers as some sort of a promotion thing or something. Luckily for Dean, Castiel's as new as they come, and he's pretty sure he can cop at least a couple of bites from his friend.

He finds Sheriff Jody Mills inside, and hesitates for a second before going inside, anyway. If anyone was going to comment about the stranger in town, it would be Jody. Dean just hopes they can make a good impression…

"Hey, Dean," Jody greets easily, pausing in her search for another loaf of bread. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Cas," he says when Castiel just stares at her, eyes fixated on the shiny star on her jacket. Dean jerks his wrist until Castiel looks at him, seeming kind of confused. "Cas, this is Jody. She's the sheriff."

"I like your shirt star," his friend decides to say earnestly instead of acknowledging the outstretched hand in front of him or the title of the woman he's looking at. Typical.

Still, Jody smiles a little. "Thanks. It marks that I'm the sheriff."

"What's the sheriff?" Castiel asks Dean, not Jody. Dean's eyes flick upwards to the high Heavens, praying that he can keep hold of his ever-waning sanity.

"It means she's in charge and makes sure nobody causes too much trouble."

"What happens if you cause trouble?" Dean seriously hopes he isn't thinking about 'rescuing' all the town's chickens or anything…

"You'll get arrested."

"What's—"

"She'll put you on time-out in a cell. Jail. A cage," Dean answers quickly, trying to ignore the weird looks Jody is giving them.

Alarmed, Castiel says, "I don't want to be in a cage."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Stay out of trouble, then." A part of him wonders how Castiel knows that word but not jail or cell. The other part just wants him to shut up before Jody suspects something, since if anyone can single-handedly throw him out of town, it's her.

"Are you tied together?" Jody asks instead, sounding amused, and Dean's face flushes.

"Yes. Dean did not want me to wander off."

"I see," Jody replies with a lilt in her tone, sounding very much like she's reached the wrong kind of conclusion. Well, whatever. "Are you new around here? I haven't seen you before."

"Yeah, he's new," Dean answers before Castiel can dig them into a grave he can't weasel his way out of. "Been staying up at the Harvelle Ranch."

"I'm a chicken tender," Castiel announces proudly, and Jody bursts out laughing, which seems to confuse him all over again.

"You two crazy kids seem like a lot of fun," Jody manages when she's finished laughing, picking up her last loaf of bread and moving to pay for it. "Enjoy your stay in town, Cas. Feel free to stick around."

When Castiel doesn't respond, Dean nudges him, prompting a quiet if bewildered, "Oh. Thank you." Castiel then steps closer to the display and asks, "Dean, can we bring some back for the chickens?"

This, naturally, makes Jody laugh again and causes the lady running the shop to smile at Castiel endearingly like he's some little kid. Nonetheless, she hands him not one but two slices of bread free of charge—one presumably for the chickens. Dean plans on taking at least half of a slice, though. Honestly, he should be given at least two free loafs of bread for all the questions he's had to muddle through today.

"Thank you," he says.

Dean rolls his eyes again and picks out the bread he actually plans on paying for. On his way out the door, he realizes it's probably a good idea for Castiel to get people to like him since they're more or less gonna be the ones to either accept him into the little society or reject him and make him leave. Still. He can't really get the whole town wrapped around his finger just by being adorably obsessed with chickens and flea-ridden strays, can he?

Then again, he somehow got Ellen to like him by asking what pickles are or something, so maybe Castiel is more versatile than Dean originally assumed. Dean feels a slight tug on the rope and looks over his shoulder to see Castiel squatting down to have a staring contest with this really ugly dog, a few people glancing over curiously and reacting in a variety of ways ranging from an endeared smile to a sneer of disgust.

Oh yeah. He's talented, all right…

Chapter Text

(5,161 words)

The next few days are some of the best Dean's ever had in his whole life. For once in his life, he's able to let loose and just enjoy himself with his brother, his best friend, and his honorary sister and parents. It snows overnight, so they use an old shield Bobby had lying around to go sledding (though Castiel doesn't participate in this due to his splint, instead spending his time drawing pictures in the snow with a stick). They even get Bobby involved, though he complains about his hip every other time he goes down and makes them carry the 'sled' back up the hill.

Once they're all nice and cold, Ellen brings them back inside and has hot chocolate waiting for them, and Dean's able to listen to Castiel marvel at the drink until he dozes off with his friend fused to his side ("But Dean, if it's hot, how does the chocolate not melt?"). He sleeps really well that night, even if he wakes up with a sore neck and a numb arm.

The day after that, the 'cold rain,' as Castiel persistently calls it, continues to fall heavily and give the ground a thick blanket. They stay inside that day and have an awesome time with Ellen learning how to knit sweaters for the chickens that Castiel endearingly refused to leave outside, instead having them cuddled against his body as his fingers fumbled over the tiny, malformed sweater he was attempting to create (before deciding to just go with scarves).

By the end of it, all ten chickens have little misshapen scarves, and Castiel even made him one at the end when his skills had improved a little. In return, Dean fumbled his way through a scarf that ended up being way too short to properly wrap around him more than twice, though Castiel loved it anyway, saying that's the first gift he's ever been given (ow).

Overall, knitting is way more fun than it has any right to be, given that it's a grandma hobby. Sharing a bed with ten clingy chickens instead of one clingy boyfriend, to contrast, is not fun, but he endures it, anyway. He's just awesome like that.

Sometime overnight, the snow lets up, and Sam and Dean are sent out to shovel it away while Jo only has to milk the cows and Castiel does something that results in him discovering the sheep in the barn, which he then proceeds to name, as well. So they now have Mushroom, Chair, and Bug the sheep. Everyone goes kind of easy on him with the chores both because he's a guest and because he's injured, though Dean suspects it has something to do with the fact that he's a 'monster,' too.

Speaking of injuries, the cut on his wing mostly closes up within three days and leaves only a thin scar behind, which makes Dean wonder how long it's gonna take his bones to heal up. While he checks out the mark curiously, he finds many more little scars littering Castiel's body—mainly his wings. It occurs to Dean at that point that he probably wasn't the first one to try to capture the infamous Vulture of Death…

That night, Bobby drops by to drop something off and ends up staying for dinner. They have crab cakes and mushroom risotto, which abruptly becomes Castiel's favorite meal (and Jo happily takes the opportunity to give him any and all mushrooms she comes across). After dinner, Ellen reads them all a story to encourage camaraderie or something that simultaneously fascinates Castiel and puts him to sleep, and Dean has to try to carry him back to their room to get him to bed. The sheets aren't oily that night, but Castiel is as much of an oven as always and clings to him like a limpet anyway.

But, like all good things, this little slice of happiness doesn't last long until reality rears its ugly head again. The source of reality knocking at the door is an actual knock at the door the next morning. It comes just after Dean gets out of his early morning shower, since he apparently wakes up early now (Castiel has had no such metamorphosis and is still conked out in their bed).

He throws on some clothes and goes to answer it, thinking it must just be Bobby. He's even laughing at something Jo says as she burns her toast yet again as he opens the door, already planning on telling Bobby to just ask Ellen for a new key and to stop pretending he hasn't lost his.

But then, everything seems to freeze, the sudden chill racing up his spine having nothing to do with the gust of cold air that rushes into the house the second the door's open. There, standing on the doorstep, fully dressed and looking somewhere between tired and annoyed, is John Winchester. His dad.

"Dean? Who's at the door?" Ellen calls over from the stove before apparently looking up. A chair scrapes against the floor as Sam gets up and joins Dean in the doorway, looking resigned in all the ways Dean isn't. Ellen comes up behind them before somehow maneuvering both of them to stand behind her, her hands on her hips. "John."

"Ellen," he briefly acknowledges before turning back to Sam and Dean, words calm but face hardened with concealed emotions. "Boys, get your things. We're going home."

Dean wilts like a rapidly decaying flower but turns to go back to the guest room he's staying in as his dad invites himself inside, much to Ellen's verbal dismay. Once he's in the room, he feels like his heart stops yet again. Castiel isn't there. Dean tosses all his clothes into a bag and yanks it over his shoulder so he can quickly scan the hallways for his friend, hoping to find him before his dad does.

No such luck. He turns the corner back into the kitchen in hopes of getting Jo to help him search, only to find Castiel already in the room nibbling on the end of a piece of toast, thankfully with all the blankets from the bed draped over his shoulders, hiding his wings from sight. When Dean reenters the room, Castiel's entire face lights up and he utters a far-too-tender, "Dean!"

The hug comes out of nowhere, but his dad's choice words about it don't. "Who's this?" the man asks, tone carefully neutral due to the other people in the room he's walking further and further into.

"Uh, this is, uh, Cas." He tries to pry Castiel off of him, but since he didn't get to cling to Dean that morning, Castiel must be trying to make up for it now, at the worst possible time. Naturally. "Cas, let go," he hisses, and his friend finally steps back, looking hurt. Dean's eyes drift to the calculating look in his father's eyes, which makes him falter even more. "Uh…"

"He's my boy," Ellen cuts in before the man can say anything. "Now, if you don't need anything, I suggest you get out."

Sam pads down the hallway with his own bag, so their dad nods and takes a step towards the door, only to abruptly swing back around and yank the blanket from Castiel's shoulders. Castiel, of course, isn't wearing a shirt, because the universe isn't that kind. So his wings are just hanging down from his back for all to see, and he just sits there looking kind of confused and lost, though visibly nervous.

"What the hell?" is all his father can manage, taking a stumbling step back before surging forward once more to tug on Castiel's wing, like it's some sort of a prop he hopes will come off.

Dean has discovered early on that even a playful tug makes his wings fan out—something Dean usually thinks is kind of cute—and this is no exception, one wing even going and hitting his dad upside the head. Crap…

The man spins back around to face Ellen, demanding, "Ellen, explain why there's a monster in your house right next to my boy."

"Only monster in here is you, John," Ellen replies, tucking the blanket back up over Castiel's shoulders calmly before crossing her arms and staring the man down. "Now get the hell off my property. Who comes and goes in here is my business, not yours."

"My boys are my business, and who they hang around with is, too," he refutes. "This is far from over." His father turns back towards the door and motions for them to follow, but neither of them do. "Sam, Dean. We're leaving."

Sam and Dean look at each other and look back. "We don't wanna leave," Dean plucks up the courage to say.

The man stills. "What?"

"We're staying, unless you promise nothing'll happen to Cas," Dean amends quickly, trying to get the best of both worlds.

"I can't promise that," their dad eventually replies, tone low and solemn.

"Yeah, well, we're not budgin', then."

Their father says nothing, and walks back towards the door. Dean's afraid of what will happen if they continue to disobey, but he's more afraid of what might happen to Castiel without anyone there to protect him (though he realizes Ellen will still be there to do that, he'd rather be a part of it), so he balls his hands into fists and firmly remains in place as his father peers back through the doorway and continues walking away.

He watches until the man is out of sight before going back into the living room and sinking onto the couch bonelessly, breathing out, "Holy crap."

"I can't believe you actually stood up to Dad," Sam whispers, slumping down beside him.

"Yeah, well, we're both grown-ass adults, right? Figured it was about time." Truthfully, Dean would never even dream of defying their father, especially not when the man finally has leverage on them. But, well, he didn't really have a choice.

Sam's tentative smile drops. "He's probably reporting Cas as we speak." Dean doesn't say anything and drops his graze to his hands, which are still shaking a little. "Dean, we need to figure out what to do with him. Cas can't stay here."

Dean catches Castiel's eye across the room. The smaller man is nodding along to something Jo is saying, but clearly isn't listening, judging by the sad look clouding his features, like he knows he has to leave now, like he knows everything he's built here over the past few days is about to be pulled out from under him. "I…"

"For the time being, we need to prepare." Ellen steps into the room with her game face on and her hands on her hips as Jo and Castiel trail after her, with Jo dropping down onto the couch beside Sam and Castiel dropping right on Dean's lap to nuzzle his face into Dean's neck. "There's no doubt a storm's coming, and we gotta prepare for it."

"I'm hoping this means you have a plan?" Dean says hesitantly, and Ellen sighs and offers a slight smile.

"Something like that. Right now, the plan is mostly to just get Castiel out of the house to someplace he can find until this all blows over."

"How about up in the hayloft?" Jo suggests. "It's pretty warm under all the hay, and it's soft, too. Plus, there are sheep and cows and stuff in there to keep him company."

"'Sheep'?" Castiel repeats.

"The fluffy horses," Dean clarifies, and his friend's face clears of its confusion as another tender smile makes its way onto his face. Dean turns to address a contemplative Ellen. "Well, what're you thinking?"

"It's as good a place as any, I guess. Better than the cellar," Ellen concedes with a shrug. "How's it sound to you, Castiel? Okay?"

Castiel worries his bottom lip for a moment before nodding a little. "Better than alone in the forest again."

"I doubt the forest would be safe for you, anyway, Cas," Sam puts in. "If they can't find you in the house, that'd be one of the first places they'd go, since the stories all say that's where you live."

"What if we drop Cas down at Bobby's?" Jo contributes. "The further he is from the house, the better, right?"

Ellen looks a little sheepish as she says, "Maybe so, but they'll be checkin' Bobby's house, too, since we're so close."

"I'd feel a whole lot better if Cas was a little closer than that, too." Dean takes one of Castiel's cold hands in his own and shifts his knees underneath his friend's weight (thank goodness he doesn't weigh as much as a regular person his size would). "The hayloft seems like the best bet, unless you got any other secret friends up your sleeve, Ellen."

"None that would just roll over and go with this," the woman replies, going back into the kitchen to get a canteen to fill with water. "Let's just try to prepare as best we can and try to send the search party somewhere else."

While Jo helps Ellen get some food and water ready for their little fugitive, Sam goes out into the barn to prepare the hayloft. Dean gets to help Castiel in a bath again and wash his hair for him, figuring they'd better let him clean up while he can since they have no way of knowing when Castiel might be allowed inside again.

Afterwards, Dean bundles him up in his own clothes and a pair of Sam's thick socks and tucks Castiel's trench coat tight around him in hopes it might starve off the harsh bite of the crisp winter air outside. It probably won't, but maybe the hay in the hayloft will help with that.

He holds Castiel's hand the entire way out to the barn, and everyone takes their turn hugging him, with Ellen even laying a motherly sort of kiss on his forehead before tugging his hat over the spot and advising him to bundle up. Dean doesn't do any of this until everyone leaves to give them a minute, in which he yanks Castiel into the biggest hug he's ever had and gives him a comparatively gentle kiss as he pretends not to cry. But it's fine, since Castiel's crying a little, too.

He helps his friend up the ladder and into the hayloft, making sure the hay covers him up entirely and no parts of him are sticking out. They don't say goodbye, but only because they're both hoping it isn't a goodbye. When Dean finally leaves the barn and closes the heavy doors, he puts his forehead against the door and cries.

-

It takes a surprisingly long time for anyone to barge into the house—as in, four hours instead of the forty-five minutes Dean was expecting. More surprisingly, they actually knock. Not that it matters, since they all plow through the door the second it's open without a word of explanation.

There's gotta be at least fifteen people searching the house and rearranging all the furniture inside, just tearing up the place. A few people leave the group to interview the occupants of the house. They all play dumb, and Ellen even boldly says John was just making the entire thing up because he's angry with his sons. Dean's not sure how well the ploy works, but goes along with it, anyway.

When they finally realize there's no monster in the house, they do leave, but the four of them immediately go to the window to find them looking around the yard. Dean exchanges a worried look with Sam and they run outside under the guise of helping with the search, though they mostly just divert the search party's attention and make them waste all kinds of time, knowing the search will be over by nightfall, at least for a while. At some point, Jo even joins in, only to unleash the chickens on the group in all their misshapen-scarved glory.

It's all fun and games until a couple of wise guys get the idea to go digging through the barn. One of them—a massive dick called Gordon Walker that hates all things monster and all things Winchester alike—picks up a pitchfork and goes straight to the hayloft. Dean panics and picks the other one up so no one else can and takes the initiative to go poking around in the pile he knows Castiel is in.

"I smell monster blood," Gordon remarks, licking his lips slowly as he jabs purposefully into a thankfully empty pile of hay. "It's close. I can smell it."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Sure that's not you you're smellin'? Or, y'know, the stinky barn smell?"

Gordon doesn't reply, instead focusing all his little brain cells on violating another pile of hay. Dean shivers when he hears the ends of the pitchfork grind against the wooden floor below. He's so glad Castiel isn't in there…

"Why do you care so much about this?" he eventually asks, genuinely curious why he's putting so much effort into…whatever this is.

"The monster stole my sister," Gordon growls. "I was eighteen and it took her away and killed her."

Dean raises an eyebrow at this. "I mean, that sucks, but aren't you, like, thirty? The whole thing with the bird monster in the woods has only been going around for, like…sixteen years or something."

Assuming Castiel's the same age as him (which is a complete guess), he would've been, like, ten when this happened, though truthfully, Dean has no idea how old his best friend even is. Still, way too young to have been abducting people, probably. Gordon's sister likely just ran away from home and everyone pinned it on some unseen monster to make Gordon feel better and possibly not become a total psychopath. Obviously, that didn't work.

"Wait a second, you're not even from around here. How'd it somehow track you from a thousand miles away just to take your sister?"

Gordon doesn't answer, so Dean silently watches him put all his strength into this one activity before he's apparently finished, left just standing there clutching the pitchfork so hard that his knuckles are white and practically foaming at the mouth. That guy always did give Dean the creeps…

"Let's go search out by the lake," Dean says, stepping away from the hay and lowering his pitchfork. Gordon just narrows his eyes, so he adds, "Maybe the bird monster thing can swim? Like, part fish monster? Then maybe it'd be able to travel a thousand miles upstream to go and kidnap people more easily."

"You think I'm an idiot?" On a bolder day, Dean would've churned out an unappreciated reply. That's when Gordon suddenly pushes past him and raises the pitchfork up high, so that the handle is a foot above his head. "Don't take a genius to see you've been standing by one pile of hay this whole time."

Dean swallows and tries to come up with something to say, cursing himself for being so stupid. But it's no use. Before he can croak a single syllable out, the pitchfork's coming down and stabbing into the pile of hay so hard Dean's surprised it doesn't break right through the freakin' floor. But—wait. If it's hitting the floor, that means it's not hitting Castiel…which means he isn't in the pile. Where could he have gone?

That brings up a whole new sense of panic and dread. Dean watches helplessly as Gordon upturns the entire pile, wondering where in the world his friend could've gone. That's when something catches his attention. One of the sheep laying down on the base level of the barn looks a little…tan in the underbelly. Upon closer inspection, he can see the edge of Castiel's trench coat just peeking out from beneath the sheep. Dean's clever, clever boyfriend (unless he just wanted to pet the sheep that badly, which…). Still, Dean can only pray Gordon doesn't notice.

"Impossible," Gordon growls, causing Dean's head to snap back over to him. "I smell it. It's here."

"Yeah, well, this is a barn. Not exactly gonna smell like roses and pure sunshine." For his attempts at humor, the other man just glares at him. Dean rolls his eyes and slowly makes his way down the ladder, trying to guide Gordon around the sheep without being too obvious about it. "Let's go check out that lake now. It's almost dark, isn't it? Winter, and all…"

Gordon, apparently frustrated or pissed or something, escapes the hand Dean had hovering over his shoulders to guide him away and turns to kick the first thing he sees—which, of course, is the sheep Castiel's hiding under. Naturally. The sheep lets out a horrible sound and stands up quickly, even as Dean rushes to try to encourage it to lay again.

But the sheep bats his hands away with its head and runs off to hide in the corner, leaving just a surprised-looking Castiel on the hay-covered floor to blink up at them, eyes big and confused. Dean can only stare at him as Castiel looks up at him, neither sure what to do.

Gordon has no such reservations, and the first thing he does is stab the pitchfork he's still holding into Castiel's torso. His friend cries out, and Dean quickly helps him stand to try to get him away from Gordon, only for the man to push him back down again and push his boot into Castiel's back, right where his wings are folded underneath all the layers of borrowed clothes he's wearing.

"Dean!"

Gordon relentlessly tears at the clothes on Castiel until the trenchcoat is pulled up, exposing the bottom tips of Castiel's wings, which are twitching nervously against the backs of his legs. He then yanks the shirts underneath up and over his head and arms until all of his wings and back is exposed before he sets the pitchfork against them and starts pushing it in slowly, and Dean can only watch in silent horror as his brain struggles to come up with a plan.

Castiel jerks against the sensation and swats at the man as best he can while he's pinned down; Dean wonders if he's ever even wrestled before, let alone got in an actual fight. His flailing indicates a hard no, but Dean's still hoping he has. Then again, years living alone in a forest don't exactly offer a lot of opportunities to playfight…

"Dean! Help!"

Dean jolts from his stupor and tries to wrestle Gordon off his friend, or at least get the pitchfork out of the equation. The commotion causes two more people to run inside, who quickly pause when they take in the scene. Suddenly, more people are pouring through the barn doors, some with nets with serrated edges that will dig into flesh. There's pushing and pulling and Dean is yanked back to watch helplessly as Castiel is bound by ropes and jagged-edged nets, crying out for Dean to help, to do something.

Castiel is dragged out the barn doors, causing the nets to dig painfully into the skin of his bare back and wings, since Gordon left him shirtless and vulnerable. Gordon, for his part, is grinning like he's just won a prize. Yeah, well, his prize is Dean spinning out of his hold and punching the guy in the face as hard as he can, breaking his nose. The man stumbles back as a hand flies up to hold his bleeding nose.

"The hell was that for?"

"The only monster here was you, Gordon. He wasn't hurting anybody and you attacked him," Dean hisses, pushing him up against the wall.

"Why wait for it to hit first when you can—"

Dean punches him again. "Don't you ever lay a hand on any of my friends again. I freakin' kill you!"

Gordon just sneers up at him. "You're friends with that thing? I wouldn't even wanna hang its severed wings on my mantle."

Needless to say, Gordon walks away with far more than just a broken nose that night, and Dean just tries to figure out what he's gonna tell the others about what had happened to Castiel. His best friend got taken under his watch. What can he say?

-

The worst part is they have no idea where Castiel is. No one in town is talking—not even Becky, the town's #1 gossip (not that Dean talks to her much, anyway, since she's got a creepy stalker-crush on Sam). It's like Castiel's just vanished into thin air, and Dean can only hope they're not hurting him or anything. Wings or not, 'monster' or not, he just hopes whoever has him will see Castiel isn't bad or violent or anything at all.

John stops by the house early the next morning, where he gets to find everyone staring at the table sullenly up until he walks in, in which everyone then stands to kick him out. It was surprisingly difficult falling asleep without his own personal feathery oven. Dean needs to make sure he's okay, more than anything, but also really wants him back, too. He never should've even brought Castiel into town, never should've put him in danger like that…

That evening, Ellen sends him and Sam and Jo out to pick up bread, if only to get them out of the house. Imagine Dean's surprise to see a few of the higher members of the town's counsel putting up a large cage in the center of the town, on top of the platform they sometimes have debates around. There's a heavy blanket draped over the cage, but Dean can still tell that's what he's looking at, and he can only think of one thing they might put inside. Cas…

Someone turns and notices them, automatically reaching for an actual whip on his belt before relaxing, which instantly worries Dean. "Scram, kids. Nothing to see here, come back tomorrow. Noon. Town meeting."

Dean reluctantly leaves the area and races home to go tell Ellen. He, Sam, and Jo all talk over each other frantically, having obviously come to the same conclusion, but Ellen somehow understands what they're saying and calms them down, telling them they can go and see Castiel when the sun goes down, like it'll be that easy and simple. The time until nightfall is spent brainstorming ways to break Castiel out of the cage, and where to hide him afterwards.

Dean is so enthusiastic about the idea of seeing his friend again that he brings Castiel's trench coat with him. When he gets to the cage, he whispers, "Cas." There's no answer. "Cas, it's me. You okay, buddy?" Still no answer. Worried, Dean tears a small hole in the cloth with a knife so he can peer inside, only to find the cage empty. "Uh, guys…?"

Sam and Jo, who were standing guard and keeping watch, turn to him, and he quickly tells them that the cage is empty. So the three of them (Ellen didn't come since adults can get away with a lot less than barely-adults and teenagers) start searching the town for possible places to hide Castiel as discreetly as they can.

Eventually, Dean comes up with the idea to look in the sheriff's department, since the holding cells sort of look like cages. Dean slinks behind the building and overturns an empty milk crate to stand on top of, looking up through the thin window and into the cells below. He sees a figure hunched in the corner, shirtless and a little bloody, with two dark shapes on their back. He tries to get Castiel's attention, but doesn't have any luck.

Mind made up, Dean hides behind the building until it closes and the lights are finally turned off. Then, he picks the lock carefully and sneaks inside, closing the door silently behind him as he approaches the cells. He gets a grand total of three steps inside before the lights suddenly fly back on.

Jody steps out from around the corner and crosses her arms. "I thought you might be here. Y'know, I could have you locked up for breaking in like that."

Dean casts one meaningful look over the woman's shoulder and swallows, replying, "Maybe you should."

That causes Jody to sigh and walk tiredly over to her desk. "Look, I don't like this any more than you do. I've met Cas, and he's nothing like all these people are saying he is."

"Tell them that."

"You think I haven't tried?" Jody shakes her head and glances over towards the cells again. "I just wish there was something I could do to help…"

"There is," Dean says quickly. "Help me bust him out."

"Dean, you know I can't do that."

He sighs and looks down. "Can I…can I at least see him?"

Jody hesitates, and his heart drops. "That's really not a good idea. He's in…he's not in the best shape right now." Dean takes a step towards the short hallway with the cells, and Jody quickly stands up to block him. "Trust me, Dean. You don't wanna see him."

"I have to," he replies, and when Jody makes no further attempts at stopping him, he pushes past her and slowly approaches Castiel, crouching down outside the cell bars. "Hey, buddy…" Castiel doesn't stir, doesn't even twitch. "Cas, wake up." Dean tries to reach in to nudge his friend, but can't quite reach him. "Cas, c'mon."

"He's been unconscious since they brought him in," Jody tells him gently from somewhere behind him. "I tried to wake him up earlier, but didn't have any luck."

Dean swallows and turns back to Castiel's still form, eyes tracing over the multitude of cuts and scratches covering his torso and face—and probably wings, too, though he can't see through the thick layers of feathers. "What's wrong with him?"

"I'm not sure. I'm hoping he's just tired." Dean doesn't respond, and Jody goes silent for several long minutes until she says, "I gotta lock up. If you swing by early tomorrow, I'll let you see him. Hopefully he'll be awake by then."

Dean stands and faces her, crossing his arms self-consciously instead of confidently or imposingly like he was aiming for. "I don't want him to wake up in this place alone."

"He won't. I live right upstairs." Jody puts a hand on his shoulder when he doesn't say anything. "It'll all work out, I'm sure."

Dean can't find the energy to say anything and allows himself to be guided back out, trench coat still balled up in his hands. He goes home feeling equally numb and distant, finding Ellen, Sam, and Jo waiting for him instead of out searching. They must've given up, too. He trudges to the guest room and lays in the too-large bed, hugging the dirty trench coat close since he can't hold its usual occupant in his arms.

Chapter Text

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He doesn't feel like he slept at all that night, but somehow, morning does eventually arrive. Dean barely prepares for the day before he's heading out the door, Jo's questions about where he's going following him on the way out along with the piece of toast he'd stuffed in his face at the last minute. Dean needs to do this alone—or he wants to, at least.

Before the sun's even fully in the sky, Dean's at the sheriff's department. Jody opens the door quickly and shuts it the second he's inside. Before she can even get an entire greeting out, Dean's rushing to the holding cells, where he finds Castiel sitting in the corner with his wings wrapped around him, hiding him from view. Upon closer inspection, Dean realizes he's picking at his own feathers and scratching at the skin underneath. He's not sure why Castiel's doing it, but he doesn't like it one bit.

"Cas!" he calls, and Castiel's head snaps up to look at him before he scrambles to his feet and over to the bars. Dean reaches his arms in and hugs Castiel as best he can through the bars, smiling into the little bit of messy hair that had extended over to the other side. "Hey, buddy." He tries to give him a little kiss, too, but can't get close enough. "You doin' okay?"

"I'm okay," Castiel replies when Dean pulls away to look at him, one hand drifting to pet his friend's wings over the spot he'd just been picking and the other to just hold his hand. Dean can tell he's putting on a brave face, but doesn't call him out on it, instead just nodding and accepting the answer. "How are you, Dean? You look…tired."

Dean grins weakly. "Better now that I know you're still kickin'." He glances over his shoulder at Jody, who's standing at the other end of the hallway and watching the conversation with an unreadable expression that clears when Dean addresses her. "Any idea what they're gonna do now?"

"Rumor has it they're gonna have a vote," Jody informs. "Have everybody come and gawk at Cas and then vote whether they wanna keep him around or…"

She clears her throat, but the implication is clear, and even Castiel seems to understand, as he then looks at the floor. Dean doesn't do more than scowl in disapproval, though, and try to smother his guilt and anger for the time being.

"They might be persuaded to s-sell him, though," the sheriff continues. "I heard that someone came into town last night asking about the monster. Talbot. Specializes in buying supernatural objects and either selling them off for more money or keeping them for themself."

Dean can't find the right words to say to that, so he asks, "Is the guy coming in to check Cas out first?"

Jody nods grimly. "Should be here in a couple of hours, at best. If I were you, I'd wrap up my goodbyes quick."

At this, Dean looks to the floor. He doesn't want to say goodbye at all, and he definitely shouldn't have to. Castiel is far from the monster all the stories paint him to be. But how can he show them that? How can he possibly change the views of at least half the town so that they vote for Castiel to stay? Especially since he's only got a few hours to even try, and the people here can be pretty stubborn and set in their ways…

A loud knock interrupts his thoughts. Before Jody can even take more than three steps to the door, the door is swinging open and someone is stepping inside. A somewhat tall woman with dark hair and a low-cut dress walks inside confidently, spinning a set of keys around on her finger. She strides right past Jody and to the cage, gazing inside to inspect a rapidly-retreating Castiel, whose back is now against the wall furthest from the bars.

"Ooh, he's a cutie," are the first words out of her mouth, and Dean hates her already. "Those beautiful wings are gonna look great on my wall. Or maybe I'll pluck all his feathers off and sell them individually." In the cell, Castiel starts shaking with apparent fear, though his expression is carefully and impressively impassive. "Maybe I'll keep him alive for a while, take his feathers slowly and wait for them to grow back. Who knows, maybe I'll have enough for a rug in a couple years."

"What the hell do you want," Dean demands gruffly, stepping between her eyes and the visibly shaken Castiel.

"Oh, you're a cutie, too." She smirks, then, and Dean wonders if he's allowed to punch her, or if the whole 'don't hit a girl' thing still somehow applies to people like her. "Name's Bela—Bela Talbot. I'm something of a curator for all the creepy crawlies around here, and when someone comes knocking at my door with a problem like this, I answer." She hums, adding, "Maybe you know the guy who called me here. His name is John Winchester."

"Son of a bitch," Dean mutters, running a hand down his face. Why can't he ever catch a break? "You touch a single hair or feather or freakin' skin flake on him and I'll break your kneecaps with the first wood plank I can find."

Bela just smirks. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's not really for you to decide, now is it? You're only one little vote in a whole town of frightened civilians, after all."

Dean's hand balls into a fist so he doesn't hit her. Bela either doesn't notice or doesn't care, turning her eyes back into the cell. Dean hates the way she's looking at Castiel, like he's a piece of meat on her plate just ready to devour, like he's not even a living creature with thoughts and feelings of his own.

"Yes, those wings'll be all mine pretty soon. All I need is to convince a few people he's more useful alive than dead so I can pluck each and every feather out. Maybe I can even throw a few rocks at him while everyone's readying their pitchforks, show them the monster they're all expecting," Bela muses aloud with a hum. "And even if they don't want him alive, I'll still take what I can get. Otherwise, I've got a nice spot in my basement all set up."

"You're not taking Cas," Dean growls. He looks into the cell for support, and Castiel also bares his teeth at Bela, though the action doesn't quite hit the mark on the whole 'intimidation' aspect, looking more like an angry little kitten getting its first bath than anything. The little growl Castiel emits afterwards as his feathers puff up doesn't help anything, either.

"Oh, you named it, too? You must really like your old pet," Bela sneers in response. "I'll make sure to fit his collar with it."

"I'll make sure to fit you with a neck brace if you don't get the hell outta here," he spits out.

Bela looks at him for a long moment, considering. "You know, we should have angry sex after all this," she eventually says. Her eyes briefly flicker back to Castiel as she adds, "Maybe your pet can even join in."

Dean decks her right in the nose. Shame he didn't break it, but it does get Bela to shut up and leave in a huff. Jody persistently keeps her head turned as she flips through a book on her desk, pretending she didn't see anything at all that Dean could probably get arrested for.

"I won't let her take you, Cas," Dean promises when Castiel comes back up to the bars now that Bela's gone. "I-I'll figure something out, but she's not taking you. I won't let her."

Castiel just looks kind of sad, though the unnerved fear is still there. He just looks up at Dean like he's got all the answers, like he's gonna make everything okay, even when Dean has no plan whatsoever—just a lot of promises he can only hope to keep. He'll try his best, but there's only so much he can do, really…

A new wave of guilt washes over him, and he says, "I'm sorry for ever making you leave the forest, Cas. I never even should've gone looking for you in the first place." Dean sighs, leaning his forehead against the cool cell bars. "I just…wanted to make my dad proud of me, and now he's never been more pissed at me and I have to watch my best friend get either sold off or killed. I'm so sorry…"

"Don't apologize, Dean," Castiel rumbles quietly, also leaning his forehead on the bars from the other side, mirroring his position. "The time I've spent with you and your family…it's been very, very good. I wouldn't give it up just to spend more time alone with trees. I wouldn't give you up."

Despite himself, Dean smiles, though it's a little watery. "You big, 'ol sap. C'mere." Castiel strains against the bars to get as close as he can to him so that Dean can kiss his forehead, but he just tastes kind of like dirt. "Ah man, you're all filthy, Cas." Castiel just tilts his head mildly, so Dean turns back to Jody and asks, "Hey, Jody, can I take Cas out for a little to give him a bath? I think it'll help with changing everyone's view on him."

Dean doesn't admit that he's just thinking of all the times Sam tried to bring home a dog, only for John to invariably turn the animal away, telling Sam to get a horse or something more useful instead. Sam had tried washing the things until they freakin' sparkled, but John wouldn't be swayed for more than a couple of days. Still, everyone would rather have a clean dog in their house than a filthy one, right?

Jody hesitates, but eventually allows them to go upstairs to the room she herself lives in to use her bathroom. The second the cell is unlocked, Dean sweeps Castiel up into a tight hug, though he doesn't let it last long, knowing they're on the clock. He gets his friend into the bathtub and does his best to quickly wash all the dirt, hay, and blood off of Castiel so he looks a little less…wild or untamed, taking a moment when he's clean to look at some of the injuries.

Castiel has some new bruises from being dragged and roughed up, and more than a few cuts from the nets and from something else entirely, but seems mostly okay, although his wing bone looks even more crooked than it did before. Dean can't do anything to try to fix it now, so he just dries Castiel off and smooths out his ruffled feathers a little, trying to help his friend look his best. Dean finishes as quickly as he can and brings Castiel back downstairs, reluctantly putting him back into the cell.

But Castiel doesn't look afraid. No, he looks hopeful, and, honestly? Dean's starting to feel a little hopeful, too.

-

Dean had to leave shortly after that, but he feels reinvigorated. He gets Sam and Jo to go and ask people what they know about the monster and, one by one, try to get them to realize just how little they know, just how much there is to learn. It's admittedly not the most successful technique, Dean discovers, as so many people have been misled for so long—just like Dean used to be.

Still, noon comes far too soon and far before he's ready, and Dean finds a large crowd gathering around the center of town, everyone looking at the cage Dean knows is still empty because he's been watching it all morning. He plans on watching what happens with Ellen and Jo, but John finds him and Sam and makes them go to stand by him, looking far too pleased with himself.

The snake seems to have shed into a different skin, however, as John asks after a minute, "Where did I go wrong?" Sam and Dean don't answer, just glancing at each other quickly. "What could I have done to make my boys both go to befriend the monster that burned the house down and killed their mother?"

Dean's done the math and guesstimated Castiel to be approximately too-damn-young-to-have-killed-their-mom years old (he actually thinks Castiel might be younger than him, though it's not like his friend has been keeping track, exactly…), but he keeps that bit of information to himself.

"Is this because I never let you have dogs in the house?" John continues. "Did you really want a pet that badly that you'd even let that thing—"

"Cas isn't a pet," Dean cuts in, tone merciless and unmoving as his eyes lock on the cage. He spots four people walking to the stage with one person in the center of them all, a blanket covering their entire body. He just knows it's Castiel, and his teeth grit as a new wave of helplessness washes over him.

Instead of forcing Castiel into the cage they had set up, however, they first bring him out to the end of the stage, close to the majority of the people below. The blanket is yanked from him, and Castiel blinks against the harsh flood of light. His wrists are bound with a rope that trails into the hands of two separate guards, but he seems overall unharmed.

The crowd begins murmuring and whispering amongst themselves, no one seeming quite sure what to think about this new creature they're being shown. Castiel, for his part, just tilts his head at them as his curiosity overrides his fear, having never seen this many people gathered in one place before.

"Spread its wings!" someone shouts, and a roar of agreement follows.

One of the guards yanks on Castiel's wing harshly, and both wings fan out in an instant, knocking the guard back a little. The crowd gasps and starts murmuring again as Castiel ducks his head, looking ashamed of the parts of his body everyone seems to despise and fear. Well, Dean doesn't, and he wishes everybody else didn't, too. But they do, and that sucks.

A guard smirks and folds his wings in tight and pushes him into the cage, tying the end of the rope to the bars. The cage that had looked massive only minutes before looks tiny when it's occupied, and there's barely enough room for Castiel to move with his wings even slightly extended—not that he's spread them out even a little bit now, with the eyes of the entire town gazing on him with disgust or fear or the occasional pity of those that had met him beforehand.

"How shall we dispose of the beast?" a guard asks loudly. "Cast your votes."

"Burn it at the stake!"

"Cut its wings off and watch it fall off a cliff!"

"Knife it—right here, right now!"

"Tie it up and feed it to the wolves!"

"Knife it! I'll even do it!"

"Murder!"

"Sell it to the Talbot estate!" Bela shouts, only to have no one back her up.

Dean feels like he's going to faint at all the suggestions flying around. Not a single person besides a very vocal Ellen and Bobby are even trying to suggest that Castiel maybe doesn't need to be 'disposed of' at all. With the way things are going, Castiel's going to suffer a very horrible and very public death in front of everyone, and Dean can't do a single thing to stop it.

"It'll all be over soon, Dean," John soothes, clapping a hand on his shoulder briefly. Dean shakes his head and pushes away from him to go over to Ellen, Jo, and Bobby, Sam right on his tail.

"Guys, this is really bad," Dean hisses under his breath. "They take one look at him and hate him! What are we gonna do?" Ellen looks at him sympathetically, but can only rub at his tense shoulders a little, unable to offer a response.

"How'd that thing even get here in the first place?" someone calls out amidst all the horrific suggestions for ways to get rid of the town's 'problem,' and Dean goes pale, wondering if he's gonna be thrown to the side and slaughtered, too—if Sam's gonna have to join him…

"Dean brought me here," Castiel replies, to Dean's horror, and the entire crowd goes abruptly silent. Like, audible pin-dropping silent; he's surprised he can't hear the snow falling to the ground, it's so quiet. Even the guards look stunned, though Dean isn't sure why, and he doesn't think Castiel knows, either.

"Y-you can speak?" one person bravely asks, and Castiel just tilts his head, all weird and endearing.

"Of course. Why couldn't I?"

No one replies for a long moment, and Dean realizes that no one had realized Castiel isn't some monster, but is actually an intelligent being. What will they do if they know he has thoughts and feelings and opinions of his own?

Suddenly forming an idea, Dean shouts, approaching the stage as he goes, "That's not all he can do! He can draw and sing and knit and, uh, make toast, too!"

"He takes care of the chickens on the Harvelle Ranch," Jo pipes in, following him up. "Loves the things to death, for some reason. Named every single one of 'em. Loves the sheep, too."

"He loves following bees around and watching them go to all the flowers," Dean continues, climbing up on the stage when the surprised guards don't do anything to stop him. "Loves all kinds of animals and tries to keep them safe. Loves listening to people read, too. He'll probably be able to learn to read himself with some practice." No dumb animal can learn to read, right?

Dean has no doubt Sam would be following them up there, spewing all sorts of things about his dietary needs or something, but with the way John's glaring at him, Sam must feel like he's caught in some sort of triggered trap just waiting to spring shut and lock him in. That's generally what it feels like to him, anyway.

"His favorite food is my mom's crab cakes and mushroom risotto," Jo announces. "No idea why, especially since mushrooms are so gross."

"He used to be scared of horses until I taught him how to ride one. He's endlessly curious, always wondering what this is and how that works," Dean rambles. "Keeps looking at all the stray dogs in the town, and I'm a little afraid he's gonna take 'em all home one of these times."

The crowd is starting to mutter again, but it doesn't seem as harsh as it was before. After all, it's a little harder to hate someone once you know a little more about their personality—unless their personality is anything like Gordon's or Bela's. …actually, maybe Dean's not being fair, considering the only thing he knows about Bela is the threats she'd spewed out.

"What about his wings?" someone calls out, and Dean's heart flutters in his chest when he picks up on the pronoun swap from 'it' to 'he'.

Riding on this high, he bursts, reaching in to trail his fingers through Castiel's wings for a second, much to his friend's delight, "What about them? They're just like a couple more arms or something. Except he loves having 'em pet and they, like, help him balance. They're also super soft."

"The softest," Jo confirms over the crowd's mumbling.

He can practically see John fuming from here, but can't find it in him to care. Finally, someone asks, "Well, if he isn't a monster, what is he?" He, not it.

Dean falters for a second, having never really come up with something to call him at all, and 'bird-monster' doesn't exactly sound as fantastic and welcoming as he's aiming for…

Behind him, Castiel tilts his head with a frown and answers calmly, "I am Castiel."

-

They don't make much more progress that day. The townspeople decide to 'think about it' and consider everything said or something so they can cast their votes overnight and take a poll tomorrow morning. This means Castiel has to stay curled up in a little cage all night, only able to use his wings and his redelivered trench coat for warmth.

The rest of the day passes agonizingly slowly, even with Ellen and Bobby trying their best to keep them busy. Dean practically vibrates in his bed, he's so nervous, and he's convinced he didn't close his eyes for a single second. Inexplicably, morning does eventually come, however, and with it, a whole new wave of anxiety washes over Dean as he worries about what the town's consensus might be.

Ellen tries her best to reassure Dean that everything will be fine, but Dean can tell she's nervous, too. Her hand shakes as she stirs the soup for lunch, and she hesitates when she takes out the bowls, though she optimistically ends up bringing out an extra for when (if) Castiel returns. The general mood of the house is sullen and heavy with uncertainty for the future. None of them can say for certain what might happen and they know it, and that just makes waiting even more painful.

Come noon, anything can happen. Any verdict can be reached. Dean's hoping his and Jo's efforts will work to help turn the hearts of the town to his friend—or at least the brains, since anyone with one of those can tell Castiel isn't exactly the town's biggest threat. No, that title probably belongs to someone like Gordon Walker the Heartless with that bloodlust in his eyes as he hunts something down; Dean has no doubt which way he'll be voting…

By the time it's finally nearing noon, Dean already feels tired enough for it to be bedtime. He does feel briefly rejuvenated when he catches the still-contained Castiel's eye for a second (though he's picking at his wings again, which makes Dean frown disapprovingly), but the moment passes far too quickly and he's forced to stand with the rest of the town and prepare a potential speech of outrage, just in case people decide to be remain stupid and stuck in their ways. It had snowed a little over night, and Dean feels just a little more guilty for even bringing his friend out here in the first place.

A short guy that probably thinks he looks important or professional or something in his little suit and hat waddles up the stage to stand in front of the cage, a stick tucked under one arm. He might have cleared his throat, but it's difficult to tell over the crowd's usual amount of noise, not to mention the fact that hardly anyone even spares him a glance. Then, the guy takes the stick and whacks it against the metal bars of the cage, creating a loud ringing sound that shuts everyone up immediately, much to the guy's satisfaction.

"Now, do I have everyone's attention?" he asks with a smirk; someone throws an acorn at his head, but it misses and slips through the cage's bars instead, giving Castiel something to play with and rolls around on the ground as the guy glares into the crowd. "We're voting. Get ready." Dean rolls his eyes; this guy couldn't command a toothbrush to follow his will… "Hey! Listen!" The guy's red in the face, but no one even really looks at him.

Finally, one of the guards from yesterday comes onto the stage and shoos the guy away to go pout somewhere else, and Dean kind of misses the ineffective guy, because this is one vote he does not want to know the results of. "It's time to vote," the guard says, and everyone's attention is drawn to him. "Today, we're voting on the fate of the creature within this cage—"

"I'm Castiel," Castiel supplies helpfully, and the guard falters for a moment before nodding slowly, accepting the name.

"Castiel," he amends carefully before clearing his throat, "and determining what we're to do with i—him." He clears his throat again. "Raise your hand if you'd like to see him killed." If one hundred and fiftyish people are in the group, only about twenty raise their hands, which gives Dean a rush of hope (even if his own father is one of them). "Raise your hand if you'd like for him to be banished." About fifteen raise their hands. "Raise your hand if you'd like for him to be sold."

The only person that raises their hand is Bela, which is a surprise to exactly no one. Dean looks her in the eyes and shoots her a smug look that makes her sneer. Dean sneers back, noticing that her nose still looks a little crooked. Good.

"And finally, raise your hand if you'd like for him to be free to live amongst us, if he so chooses." Dean seriously almost passes out at the number of people that raise their hands, and Jo has to take him by the wrist to get his arm up for the vote, beaming at him and mouthing something he can't decipher through his spotty vision. "It seems we've reached a consensus. The creature Castiel will be freed, as per the vote of a vast majority of the town."

Some people clap as the guard turns around to unlock the cage. A few even cheer—like Dean, knowing he sounds like an idiot but not really caring, not when his friend's about to be free to do whatever he wants, as far as the town's law is concerned. He and Sam and Jo are all bumping each other and grinning as they rush to the town's stage just as Castiel steps out, shirtless except for the untied trench coat he has his arms in as his wings stick out the sides.

Dean runs up to the top of the stage while Sam and Jo linger back, allowing Dean to watch Castiel literally stretch his wings and roll his shoulders. A few people gasp, but no one screams bloody murder, so it must be okay. Okay enough for Dean to tug his friend into a tight hug, holding the back of his head and running fingers through his snow-dampened hair. The whole town is watching and he couldn't care less, especially when Castiel's wings join his arms and hug him back, cocooning him in the warmth he's been missing the past few days.

"Hey, buddy," he murmurs into the crown of his hair.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says back, nuzzling his face into Dean's neck and shoulder.

"How ya doin'?"

"Cold. I have skin bumps," his friend informs him, and Dean just lets out a watery laugh and holds him a little tighter, as if that will get rid of his goosebumps.

He won't admit to crying, but he totally cries a little, even as Sam and Jo come up to give Castiel little hugs and claps on the shoulders of their own as the three of them lead him off the stage and into the crowd with the rest of the town where he belongs. A few people unabashedly run their fingers through Castiel's feathers, like he's something to ogle and gawk at, like he's some rare animal in a zoo, but Castiel doesn't seem to mind.

The whole way back to Bobby and Ellen—his family—Dean's babbling about all the great things they'll be able to do now, all the dates he can take Castiel on, all the great swimming spots that'll open up in the summer even though he doesn't even know if Castiel can swim, all the things he wants to do in the future he's sure he'll have with his friend. He passes a vaguely put-out John on his way back, but doesn't even spare him a glance. He's done caring about the past, not when there's such a great future out there waiting for him.

The short guy is back on the stage—reading off some speech or something, probably—but Dean's not paying a single drop of attention (not that he thinks anyone else is either, given how many people are already starting to dissipate), not when he gets to watch Ellen hug Castiel like a mother reunited with her child before tugging a hat over his head and pulling the trench coat around him. Not to hide, but to keep warm, like he should.

"Bundle up, Cas, you'll catch a cold," she scolds with a smile, and Castiel just tilts his head a little, like he's never heard of one of those before. "Now come on, the soup'll get cold."

So the six of them walk the way back to the Harvelle Ranch, ignorant of the light snow on the ground or the slight bite in the air with their spirits as high and warm as they are. Dean gets to hold Castiel's cold hand on the way back and pretend Ellen and Bobby aren't doing the same thing from where they're leading the group as Sam and Jo gag and cough behind them. The Harvelle Ranch is quickly becoming more of the Harvelle-Singer-Winchester(-whatever last name Castiel might have, if he even has one (if not, Winchester might suffice, in a few more years)) Ranch what with the patchwork quilt sort of family living within its walls.

On the way in, they pass Ash leaning against the fence, who Dean's pretty sure isn't even supposed to be working today (not to mention he can't figure out how Ash could have beaten them home when Dean's never seen him go any faster than a slow speed-walk).

Ash gives them a once-over as they walk by and says, "Weird guy. You're back."

It doesn't seem to occur to Castiel that Ash is talking to him, so Dean corrects for him, "Cas."

"Cas," Ash repeats. "Looks like you're a party in the back, too, huh?" Dean rolls his eyes, but before he can reply, Ash pushes to his feet and starts walking the way back to town without another word, as cryptic as usual. Him and Pamela would make great friends.

Dean shrugs it off and trails behind the group as Jo rushes ahead to get inside first, for whatever reason. He's not in any rush to get back inside, even with a lukewarm bowl of soup that'll starve off the lingering chill in his bones waiting for him. What's there to rush for when he's got his boyfriend by his side, cheeks all red from the cold and smiling at him with his eyes?

Smiling back and leaning in for a kiss, Dean whispers, "Welcome home, Cas."

-

Looking back, Dean kind of can't believe how lucky he is, he muses as he looks up at the fresh buds on the trees. He's not the same naively single-minded twenty-two year old he used to be. Castiel made him more…open, even about parts of himself Dean didn't even realize existed. Castiel taught him, first and foremost, that it's okay to be yourself just by being himself.

It sounds super cheesy, but it is true, and, hey, if the infamous bird monster gets to love bees and make chickens his 'flock,' Dean's allowed to be a little less than straight, even if only for one certain bird monster. He didn't even mean to get like that, but now, he can't imagine a time where he wasn't interested in Castiel. Now, Castiel's as much his family as Ellen and Bobby are his parents (though his real mom does have a special place in his heart, even if he barely knew her) and Jo's his sister and Sam's his brother.

Castiel never talks about his family much, or where he came from or what he is. From what Dean can gather, he didn't have the best life when he was younger and always had to move around to avoid anyone finding out what he is—what he isn't—but it's…it's better now. Castiel used to be afraid of the past. Dean used to be afraid of the future. Together, they somehow enjoy the present and make the past and future look just a little brighter. Which, again, sounds really cheesy but somehow holds water, anyway.

To make things even better, John hasn't poked his nose around the Harvelle Ranch even once in all the time they've been staying there, which may be due to Bobby supposedly threatening him with a shotgun. Again. Rumors are that John had left sometime in the winter around Dean's birthday when he realized his adult sons really aren't gonna come crawling back anytime soon; Dean couldn't have asked for a better gift.

Sammy stays over at the ranch on the weekends and travels a few towns over for his classes on law, determined to become a lawyer. Dean knows he's gonna be great, if only because, even a few months shy of nineteen, he's way more open-minded than Dean ever could've been. He knew even before he met Castiel not to judge a book by whatever covers the town's giving it, and he always looks at the facts before jumping to any conclusions. All in all, he's raised his brother well, if he does say so himself.

Dean drops his eyes from the new leaves on the trees and heads over to the chicken coop in search of his boyfriend, as that's undoubtedly where he is. As he approaches, he finds his prediction to be right. Castiel's sitting in the center of the (probably way larger than necessary) pen surrounding the coop with one of Jo's old school books in his hands, attempting to read to the chickens like they can actually understand him. He's shirtless again and his wings are out, and some areas of feathers are missing, as he's molting and losing his winter plumage.

The book is a lower level book designed for little children, but Castiel doesn't seem to mind the implications. He's squinting at the words like they're nothing more than meaningless little squiggles, but Dean knows he's been improving and learning his letters and numbers lately, having been teaching him them himself alongside a very patient Ellen. The fact that Castiel can speak English…somewhat well definitely helps.

When he sees Dean watching, Castiel smiles. "Hello, Dean." The chicken in Castiel's lap squawks at Dean once before running off, but Castiel doesn't seem to notice.

That reminds Dean of the chicken egg they're hiding from Castiel as a little surprise that should be hatching one of these days into a new baby chick; he can't wait to see what Castiel might call this one… Still, thank goodness he has some type of an aversion or fear or something to the cows, or else they'd never be able to eat anything but rabbit food around here.

"Whatcha doing out here?" he asks, casually leaning against the chicken coop.

"Reading." He holds the book up to show Dean the 'The Bug's New Wagon' that he's apparently reading through. That sounds…interesting…

Despite himself, however, Dean can't help but smile. "Oh yeah? Can you read some to me?"

Castiel beams up at him before resuming his place in the story, where the bug is contemplating the color of the wheels and the paint job. Dean steps inside the chicken pen to listen, sitting beside his boyfriend as he fumbles his way through the story, eager yet clumsy. Sitting there, he can't help but take a moment to be thankful for the life he's built for himself.

He's got a great family, a great friend and more, and a pretty great life. Overall, he's happy he went into the forest at all that day way back in late fall, even if he has to get up at the ass-crack of dawn every morning and pitch in on the farmwork. And, well, if this is the kind of life he can expect for his future…he kind of can't wait.